A Stair of Swords
by theicemenace
Summary: A man wandering alone in New York finds his way into a coffee shop, where he meets a girl who tells him they're friends. In spite of his questions, he lets her care for him until someone tries to kill both of them. Who is he? And why does someone want him dead? T Rating to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This fic came about from comments made during one of the marathon brainstorming sessions between ladygris and myself. The original plot was different from what appears in this story.

Don't forget to review.

Enjoy,

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter One**

Morning dawned clean, clear and crisp in Black Diamond, Alberta, Canada as Kate Beckett rolled over to cuddle closer to the man sharing her bed. As soon as she touched Castle, his arms pulled her tight. Looking into his face, she saw the smile he only gave to her, and she returned it even though he was asleep. Resting a hand on his chest, she enjoyed the feel of the steady thumping of his heart.

The weather had been forecast as sunny and mild with temperatures in the mid- to low thirties for highs with a wind chill factor that was low enough to need heavy coats, hats, gloves and scarves when they ventured outside. It was especially true for when they went outside to view the Aurora Borealis at the party. Kate smiled against the side of Castle's neck. Her phone beeped and she reached across him to stop it before it woke him, startled when he snatched it from her. "Hey! Give that back!"

"We came here to relax and watch the Northern Lights. Gates will just have to get someone else to help out."

"It's my dad." He handed it over and she answered as she climbed out of bed. "Hey, Dad…What time's your plane?" Even with socks her feet were cold on the hard wood floor. Shoving her feet into her comfortable slippers, she went into the bathroom. "We'll pick you up…The party starts at seven local time and goes until Castle throws everyone out…" she chuckled, "…you're probably right. I'll start dropping hints around midnight and everyone should be cleared out by two…Love you too, Dad."

Kate attended to her morning routine then headed downstairs to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and the sound of dishes clanking together. Standing in the doorway, she watched Castle move from here to there and back, fixing breakfast. He bounced in time to the music coming from the radio as he whisked the pancake batter until it was lump free then poured the batter onto the hot griddle with a flourish, only then noticing she was there. "Morning."

Using a wide spatula, he flipped the first two pancakes into the air one at a time, catching them on a plate. He did the same with the other two, setting the plates on the counter in front of two barstools where syrup and butter were already waiting. He poured them each a cup of coffee and came around to her side, dropping a lingering kiss on her mouth before taking his seat. "Looks great."

"When Meredith moved to LA to pursue her acting career, I made Alexis chocolate chip pancakes every Sunday morning then we'd go for a walk in the park. Every time, she'd ask for a puppy and then get distracted by the other kids. She'd forget all about the puppy until the next week."

Pouring a small amount of syrup on her pancakes, Kate cut a bite. "She's in medical school, Castle. You can stop making smiley faces with the chocolate chips now."

"Have you learned _nothing_ in all the years we've known each other? I don't make the smiley faces for _her_. I make them for _me._" He wiggled his eyebrows and took a drink from his cup, his grin turning into a sad yet wistful smile.

"You miss those days, don't you?"

Nodding, he cut a bite of pancake and speared it with his fork. "Yes, but I'm enjoying these days as well. Though it _is_ taking some getting used to as our relationship changes from father and young child to father and _adult_ child." He reached for the coffee pot to refill their cups. "I'm just sorry she's going to miss the party."

Kate carried their plates to the sink. "Her education and job are more important than pretty lights she can see any time." She leaned against Castle when his arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Can't help remembering when pretty lights _were_ the priority." Castle kissed her on the neck. "The chef and her team will be here at eleven to go over the menu one last time."

Turning to face him again, her right hand came to rest on his waist, sliding around to his spine to pull him close. "That means we have at least two hours all to ourselves, and I have plans to fill that time."

Intrigued, he said, "Oh? Tell me more."

Beckett grinned. "Why don't I show you?"

~~O~~

His name was Enigma. At one time, he may have had another name, but he didn't remember it. Just the aliases he'd gone by while on missions for his employers. Each time he went out, he had a new name and never the same one twice, but he wasn't any of those people. Their names and life histories were figments that arose from the minds of the analysts according to the nature of his mission. His superiors had kept him busy since they'd discovered that, left to his own devices, boredom set in and he, as Enigma, would wreak havoc on the world around him.

After the mission to Paris, he'd gone off the grid and ended up in New York. He needed to rest, to find a calm place inside his mind where he could just…be. And when he'd let himself be still and tranquil, the dreams started. He couldn't think about that now, not as he exited the parking structure leaving behind the bodies of the three enforcers who'd ambushed him. He hadn't wanted to kill them, but they hadn't given him a choice.

Now he was working out the logistics of his next move. He couldn't go to any of the safe houses because they were all known to his employers. Brief visions of black walls and an immense flying ship would flit though his mind and be gone when he tried to grab hold of it, like mist in the morning sun. In its place flashed the addresses of the safe houses he'd set up without the knowledge of his handler, Grant Kearney or his superiors.

When that quietude had begun to drape itself over his mind, he realized that the only name he'd ever been called by the people he worked for was Enigma. The doctors who'd administered the chems never addressed him by name. Just as Alpha. Did that mean there were others like him? Others who depended on the chems to keep them mentally and physically alert, to keep them alive?

Just because he was called "Alpha" didn't mean there were others, though it was implied. That designation didn't automatically mean Beta, Gamma, Delta, etc. followed, but it was one of the things he had to find out. _Were_ there others like him? If so, why had he never met any of them? Was there a reason they were kept apart? Or were their jobs so different that they had no need to interact?

He'd been wandering the streets of New York for two days, sleeping in No Tell Motels. Something about this city drew him, but he couldn't figure out what. Images of a terrible battle mixed with happier times. Faces swimming in and out of his memory. Clear then blurred, never staying still long enough for him to put names to them, if he even knew them. They seemed far away, as if from long ago. The memories he'd accumulated since he'd awakened in the hospital's isolation ward were well-defined while the others were not, like old photographs taken with a camera out of focus.

Turning his wrist over, he glanced at his watch. He'd have to stop somewhere soon if only to take the meds that were keeping him alive. A grumbling in his stomach reminded him that it had been more than twelve hours since he'd eaten.

Stretching his senses to the fullest, Enigma kept a steady pace, turning left and right randomly, even cutting through stores and the occasional medical or office building until the smell of coffee and freshly baked goods drew him. Easing off the other senses, he concentrated on those smells because they seemed familiar in a way that was different than just being in Manhattan felt.

He turned one last corner and just down the street hung a sign with the words "Java Loft" in a welcoming font edged by glowing green and white neon. The place was about a third full with several of the outside tables occupied as well. Everyone ignored him as he avoided the main door and entered through the one closest to the bathrooms. During his trek, he'd stopped in one of the clothing stores and purchased clean clothing including socks, underclothes, jacket and a cap to replace those torn and bloodied by his earlier encounter with the assets. The clerk had barely looked at him as she took his cash and rang up his purchases then moved on to the next person without giving him another thought.

In the men's room, he stripped out of his soiled clothing. Using paper towels, soap and hot water, he cleaned himself up as much as possible. He also stuck his head under the faucet to rinse the blood and dirt from his hair, using more paper towels to dry with then finger combed it into the messy, wind-blown style popular these days. Examining himself in the mirror, turning side to side, his image was overlaid with another where his hairline had receded over the strands that now touched his forehead. Along with that image he saw himself wearing a boring dark blue suit and uninteresting striped tie, nothing like what he'd worn the last two years. Shaking his head drove out the vision and he was himself again.

Satisfied with his look, he shoved the old clothes into the bag from the clothing store and left. A store down the block had an incinerator in the alley though he didn't know how he knew this. He made his way there, opened it, and shoved the bag inside. Brushing the dirt from his hands, he returned to the coffee shop, but as he neared, he again got the feeling that he was being watched. Pretending he was checking email on his phone, he scanned the area, but didn't see anyone who looked out of place.

Again, his stomach grumbled and he'd settled on the diner when a police car cruised down the street. The window on the passenger side was open allowing Enigma's superior hearing to pick up the radio squawk.

"_All units. Be on the lookout for a Caucasian male, approximately forty-five years of age, five nine to six feet, brown hair, one hundred sixty to one hundred seventy-five pounds, eye color unknown. Last seen wearing khakis, dark blue jacket and brown striped shirt. He is a person of interest in a trio of suspicious deaths and may be armed and dangerous. Do not approach._"

A brief flash of humor turned up the corners of Enigma's mouth. He could see at least eleven men within two hundred yards who fit that general description, not counting himself.

The police car slowed down and his amusement faded as he ducked into the Java Loft, ordered a large dark roast and a turkey sandwich. He carried them around to the part of the store facing the side street, taking a seat in a dimly lit corner next to a set of bookshelves. Breathing a sigh of relief, Enigma saw the police leave without stopping or coming.

Choosing at random, he took a book from the shelf closest to him, opening it to the first page. Pretending to read while he ate, he turned the pages precisely every three minutes. When he reached the end of the book, he chose another and did the same thing.

Several hours later he became drowsy. A side effect from the turkey, no doubt. But couldn't leave himself vulnerable so he requested a refill on the coffee and returned to his page turning. Soft footsteps came toward him. He ignored them, keeping his eyes on the book, his elbow planted on the arm of the chair with his hand shielding his face to discourage conversation. It didn't work.

"Phil?"

The voice was female, young and most assuredly New York. There was also the tremor of disbelief mixed with genuine fear. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, so he put on a smile and glanced up. She was very pretty, with long light red hair and wide, intelligent blue eyes. Looking at her, he had a flash of something indistinct and elusive. He pictured her laughing and watching him with a curious expression as he talked about…what? The feeling he got from the image in his mind was of a close friendship with the young girl. It didn't make sense. How could they have met and when? In the before time? The years he couldn't remember?

~~O~~

Hunched over her textbooks, a hot cup of decaf near her right hand, Alexis Castle looked up in annoyance when someone bumped her chair, and stopped with mouth open and her pen in mid-air. The man who'd bumped into her couldn't be who he appeared to be. He just _couldn't_.

Her hand touched the phone in her back pocket as she thought about calling Esposito and Ryan…or even Captain Gates. But what could they do? No crime had been committed. Yet. She gave the room a quick once-over before shoving her books and papers into the backpack. Getting to her feet, she walked over to the man who'd been sitting in the far corner, glancing left and right to make sure no one was listening. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said only one word, "Phil?"

Settling back in his chair, he crossed one leg over the other. "Sorry. You have me confused with someone else."

She blinked. The way he'd moved just then, sitting back in his chair, looking relaxed yet his eyes constantly scanning the room. "It's me." When he continued to stare blankly at her, she added, "Alexis?" That still didn't help, her expression changing to anger tinged with fear. She clutched her backpack to her chest in a defensive gesture. "What the _hell's_ going on, Phil? _How_ can you be here? After the invasion…"

With genuine confusion, the man pushed the hat back so he could see her better. The late afternoon sun was blocked by the surrounding buildings. "I'm new to Manhattan. Just came in for coffee and a muffin."

"All you have is an empty coffee cup and there're no muffin crumbs anywhere so you've been here at least three hours. Are you in trouble? Please, Phil. I'm your friend. Let me help."

Now he looked annoyed. "Very sorry, Alexis. I don't know who Phil is, and I don't need help."

Alexis set her backpack on the floor at her feet, scoffing. "And I'm telling _you_, I'd recognize that voice anywhere. You're my friend, Phil Coulson, but you _can't_ be."

"That's paradoxical thinking, young lady." That rueful grin came back with the dimples that were just a little lopsided adding more weight to Alexis' theory. Somehow, the friend she'd been told died in the invasion was _alive_. "Gives me a headache."

"That's exactly something Phil-_you_ would say." Alexis looked down at her lap, fingers twisted together. "Would've said."

More than a little curious, he asked, "Past tense?"

The girl shifted in the chair, her eyes still wide. "You _died._"

~~O~~

Enigma pushed the cap back on his head and spread his hands out to the sides. "Do I look dead to you?"

The girl's blue eyes flashed with irritation. "No. But that's my point. Once our building was repaired and we moved back in, an attorney paid me a visit. He gave me an envelope."

"There must've been something pretty spectacular inside. Money? Real estate? Diamonds? The keys to an expensive sports car?"

The girl glanced around, but the other patrons were paying no attention. "It was a letter from _you_." She reached out and touched his hand. A brief flash of pain caused her to drop her eyes for a moment. "In it, you said how much our friendship meant to you."

Enigma's stomach growled again reminding him he hadn't eaten since the sandwich hours ago. His faster metabolism required a greater number of calories per day than the average human. He thought it ironic since he'd been remade into something more than human. "That's all very interesting, Alexis."

She peered at him, curiosity replacing the apprehension and fear. "You _really_ don't remember?"

He shook his head. Until now, he'd avoided looking her directly in the eye almost fearing what he might see there. "Were we…" Not sure how to say what he was thinking, he just trailed off with a pointed look.

"Dating? No. Just friends." Alexis took out her phone, glanced at the time then shoved it back into her pocket. "Let's go. We'll get something to eat and you'll tell me what's going on."

Shrugging, Enigma figured it couldn't hurt to share a meal with Alexis. At her age, she probably lived with her parents though, and he wondered what they would think of their daughter bringing home a man old enough to be her father. "I am hungry."

"Dad's out of town for the weekend and Grams is on tour so we'll have the place to ourselves."

In the back of his mind, Enigma got the feeling that he should know her father's name. Their home would provide him with that information. While she was cooking, he would do a little snooping and question her about their friendship. "Your father won't mind me being there when he's not?"

Alexis snorted as she led the way to the door. "I'm twenty-one and have been choosing my own friends since I could talk."

Out on the street, Enigma walked beside the girl, trying to look at ease with the situation, but the moment he'd stepped out of the coffee shop he felt eyes on him. He trusted his instincts in these situations, and they screamed at him to be on guard. "Wouldn't want him or your grandmother to get the wrong idea."

"They won't." With a half grin, Alexis snorted and hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. "Forgot my backpack. Wait here."

Before Enigma could stop her, the girl turned and ran back to the coffee shop. Now that he was alone, the feeling of being watched increased. Instinct put his feet into motion. If something was going down, he didn't want Alexis in the middle of it.

The first sign that they'd gotten close was the prickling on the back of his neck. The next came in the scuff of a shoe on the sidewalk followed by the rasping of someone breathing. They weren't close, but his senses had sharpened to the point that he could feel the heat of another's body across the space of more than three feet. His senses all across the board had been improved. Taste was the worst, or the best depending on how you looked at it. As little as a few drops of alcohol in a twenty ounce cup of coffee or tea and he could taste it. Right now, he smelled the sweat and cheap aftershave of the man as well as the woman's lavender shampoo.

Pulling the cap low, he turned away from the coffee shop and started walking. He'd known the assets were hiding in the doorway of the men's clothing store the moment he'd stepped outside, and he'd hoped they would leave him alone as long as he was with Alexis. Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

Thankfully, Alexis herself had solved the problem. From their short conversation, he could tell that she wasn't the type of person to stand idly by while anyone, family, friend or stranger, was attacked. Now he had to lead them away not only from Alexis, but from all the other innocent people going about their daily lives without an inkling that trained assassins lurked in their midst.

Leading the assets away from the busy streets, Enigma again took refuge in an alley behind a dumpster. His enhanced sense of smell picked up the myriad scents from the burger, Italian and Chinese restaurants as well as the hair salon. But through it, he could still pick out the odors coming from the assets, the man out in front of the woman.

Suddenly, he was assaulted by the sight and sound of a flashbang grenade, stunning him long enough for the assets to locate his hiding place and drag him out into the open. The man got him in a strangle hold. However, due to his enhancements, he needed less oxygen than the average human. His vision cleared just in time to see the woman approaching him with an auto injector. Naturally they would know about his enhanced metabolism and increased the dosage to be certain he was taken down quickly.

His only choice now was to employ an old trick. Letting his body go limp, he felt the man's grip on him falter slip enough for him to take in a lungful of air. He pushed the man away from him, ignoring him for the moment, Enigma dealt with the woman, his hands and feet a flurry of activity until she lay stunned on the ground. As he fought with the man, he slipped on a wet piece of cardboard giving his opponent an advantage.

The man spun him around and slammed him into the side of the dumpster stunning him again. While he tried to sort everything out, the man picked up the injector and came toward him, a grin of malicious satisfaction on his face. A face that seemed familiar. Enigma put up his hand hoping to forestall the inevitable, blinking his eyes to rid them of the lingering afterimages of the flashbang.

The prick of the injector in the side of his neck hurt. As his vision started to blur, he heard a whack, followed by a thud then gentle hands helped him to his feet, urging him to get up and move. The voice was known to him now, and because he knew this person meant him no harm, he allowed himself to be led away from the scene.

Alexis pushed out of the coffee shop, thrilled that she'd found her friend Phil and he was alive. She was also confused and angry. The attorney had said Phil was dead, but he wasn't. Like her dad, she had an insatiable curiosity and wouldn't stop until she found the truth no matter how long it took.

Her smile faded when she saw that Phil wasn't where she'd left him. He was nearly a block away, a man and woman giving chase. She ran after them, stopping at the corner of the alley where they'd disappeared. The sound of voices and fighting came to her as she sneaked a peek. The man had Phil in a headlock while the woman attempted to inject him with something, most likely a sedative or tranquilizer though it could be poison too.

Phil got away from the man and fought with the woman, knocking her to the ground. The man got the better of him, hitting him with a right cross and left hook. Phil lay on the ground stunned, blinking in the weak light coming from above. The man grabbed up the injector, standing over Phil, his face expressionless as he pulled the collar of his jacket aside. His thumb pressed the end of the injector, a small needle popping out the end. As he made to jab it into Phil's neck, Alexis picked up a rusted metal bar, lifted it high over her head and brought it down on the man's head. She was just a split second too late and Phil cried out at the pain. Hitting the man again, he dropped to the ground and Alexis was tempted to hit him once more just for spite.

The woman stirred, pressing her hands into the ground to push herself upright. But she wasn't allowed to enjoy being conscious for long because Alexis brought the bar down on the back of her head. She grunted and collapsed into a puddle, blood running down the side of her neck. Tossing the bar aside, Alexis checked that the woman's face was out of the water and she was breathing before moving over to her friend. "Phil?"

"Go." He got to his feet, stumbled against the side of the dumpster using it to get himself upright. His right hand fell onto her shoulder as he turned her away from him. "Hurry! Before their back-up arrives."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Two**

Alexis shook her head, her mouth a stubborn line. She wouldn't leave him here to be killed. "No! What's going on, Phil? Who _are_ they?"

"No time." Weaving on his feet, he looked at her with an unfocused gaze. "Please go, Lexi."

Alexis inhaled sharply. No one called her Lexi. Just Phil. It _had_ to be him, despite his claims. She scooped up the injector, shoving into her pocket before wrapping a slender arm around his waist and grabbing his belt on the opposite side for leverage. "That guy shot you full of drugs. I have to get you off the street."

Thankful that he'd stopped fighting her, Alexis led him to the mouth of the alley, picking up the backpack she'd dropped when she'd come to his aide. Instead of the subway, she flagged down a cab, gave the address and let Phil sleep until they reached her building. She paid the driver and gave him a tip that was just the right amount to ensure that she would remain unremarkable in his memory. "Ungh! Phil, you need to at least _try_ to help."

Her tone must've done the trick because he took a deep breath and eased some of his weight off of her just as they reached the elevator. Inside, Alexis propped Phil in the corner and hit the button for her floor repeatedly. "Come on, come on, come _on!_"

Finally, the doors closed and they were whisked upward. At the front door, she leaned him against the wall while she unlocked the door then helped him inside. She dropped her backpack when he tried to sit down on the stairs, forcing him to keep going until she could let him down onto the sofa. His head fell back, his eyes closing, already asleep. At least she hoped he was asleep and not going into a coma or worse.

Going into the kitchen, she started the kettle then filled a basin with warm water which she carried into the living room. Setting it on the coffee table, she rushed to the bathroom for antiseptic, bandages and a washcloth. She dipped cloth in the water, wrung it out and used it to clean the dirt, grime and blood from his face.

All during her ministrations, he barely moved, just his chest and the occasional light snore. Poking him in the shoulder, chest and stomach told her he was really out and would be for a while. Carefully lifting his shirt, she took the weapons he'd hidden and set them on the coffee table. The last one looked like her dad's, but bigger.

Taking a sheet of paper from the printer, Alexis wrote a quick note, used a binder clip to pin it to Phil's shirt front, grabbed her purse and left the loft. Having taken this particular trip five to six days a week for nearly three years, she made it to her destination in record time. She pushed through the double doors just as her boss and friend Lanie Parish closed the door on one of her "patients."

"You don't get enough of this place when you're workin' you gotta come in on your vacation too?"

With a shrug and a half smile, Alexis opened her purse, her fingers finding the injector. "I need your help." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment thinking. "A friend is in trouble."

Immediately suspicious, Lanie crossed her arms and thrust a hip out to the side. "I know I'm gonna regret askin' this, but what kind of trouble?"

Alexis held up the injector. "I need to know what's in this and how to counteract it. _I_ could do it, but…"

Lanie's eyes held hers for a long moment then she sighed and grabbed the tube. "Why I let you Castles get to me, I'll never know." She trailed off, motioning for Alexis to follow her into the lab.

~~O~~

The mass spectrometer whined through its end cycle after analyzing the sample Lanie had given it to chew on. Tapping the keys of the computer, she brought up the display. The colored lines on the graph were familiar, but in much larger quantities. "Alexis, where did you get this?"

The younger woman looked guilty. "What is it?"

"According to the mass spec, it's a nonbenzodiazepine similar to zolpidem, but much stronger."

"How _much_ stronger?"

Turning to face her friend, Lanie crossed her arms stubbornly about to demand answers, but the look on Alexis' face stopped whatever she was going to say. It was that same look her dad got when he was being serious, which wasn't often. "I'll put it this way. If the intent was to sedate a racehorse, this would've done the trick…and then some."

"Is there any way to neutralize or flush it out of someone's system?"

"Not that I know of. A ten to twenty milligram dose of regular zolpidem wears off in four to five hours with sedation lasting another couple of hours. But this…" she gestured at the tube setting on the counter, "…without knowing anything about the person involved, and assuming he or she _isn't_ dead, I would have to say double that unless he or she has a _very_ high metabolism."

Alexis picked up her purse and started for the door. "Thanks."

"Whoa! Where're you going? Don't I get an explanation?"

One hand on the door, Alexis debated with herself for all of five seconds then shook her head. "Sorry. I gotta get back. Thanks again."

And the girl was gone before Lanie could stop her. Shaking her head, the ME returned to the autopsy room just as ME Sidney Perlmutter and of the technicians came in with a stretcher carrying a body bag. Huffing, Lanie went to the sink to scrub.

Sidney heard and answered with a snort. "You've been here all day, Lanie. I got this one."

Drying her hands, Lanie gave Perlmutter a grateful smile. "Appreciate it, Sidney."

"You're welcome. Besides, the COD's pretty obvious though I'll know more after the autopsy."

Her lack of interest didn't penetrate her colleague's shroud of good humor. "Oh?"

"Yeah. We were called when…" he consulted the paperwork, "…Frank Beamer had a heart attack during dinner at Marie-Thérèse. I called it as soon as we arrived."

Not quite understanding why he was making such a show of it, Lanie grabbed her jacket and purse from the desk they shared. "And this is interesting why?"

Sidney looked smug as he unzipped the body bag and spread the sides so she could see the body. "Because our new pal Frank _didn't_ die of a heart attack. He was run through with a sword."

~~O~~

Moaning, Enigma lifted his head and rubbed his eyes as he yawned. Blinking in the light, he looked around taking in the chic furnishings and neatly arranged loft. His weapons were on the table in front of him, the Glock and the Berretta, as well as the Sig P229 and Walther P99 he'd taken from his opponents from the first encounter. The crinkle of paper drew his attention to the note pinned to his shirt. It was a drawing of a leaf with a red circle and a slash across it. His clothes were dirty and torn from the fights, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

Smiling and shaking his head, he set the note aside while his brain continued to reboot. The smiling face of a young girl with red hair peering out of framed photos perched here and there on shelves and counters. She'd claimed to know him, kept calling him Phil, but the name meant nothing to him. Or did it? At the moment, he wasn't sure. The picture in his mind was the same yet subtly different than the face he'd seen in the coffee shop. A little younger, girlish. Today, she appeared older, more mature.

Taking a deep breath, he listened for the girl's footsteps, but didn't hear anything. It didn't seem a viable option for a native New Yorker to leave a relative stranger alone in their home, yet she had done just that. It spoke of trust that had been earned through time and trials. But how much time and what sort of trials? Did it have something to do with the battle he kept seeing in his dreams?

Opening the refrigerator, he took out a bottle of water and drank the entire contents down. An open door led him to the bathroom where he splashed water on his face then attended to business. When he came out, he wandered through the living room into the den to examine the books on the shelves. _Flowers for Your Grave, Bullets and Bracelets, Storm Fall, Heat Wave, Naked Heat, Heat Rises, Frozen Heat, Deadly Heat_. The titles seemed familiar, as if it were a long ago memory that he wasn't certain he could trust.

Enigma's enhanced hearing picked up footsteps in the hall then a key in the lock. He shoved all but one of the weapons into the waistband of his pants, chambering a round in the Glock as he flattened himself against the bookshelves. Tentative steps came in his direction. He took a deep breath, dived to the right and came up on one knee, the gun aimed with unwavering precision. The sound of a bag hitting the floor came just before a voice called his name with a note of rebuke. "Phil?"

Alexis. With a sigh of relief, he engaged the safety and brought the weapon down to his side. "Guess I'm a little edgy."

One side of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she picked up the bag she'd dropped. "A _little?_"

He started to wave with the gun then set it on the table close by. "What've you got there?"

"I brought us something to eat. Not clothes though, and Dad's stuff would be too big."

An ironic smile crossed his features. "Your dad's what, six-two, two-thirty."

"Close. You can get a shower while I put out the food, if you like." She opened cabinets and drawers, taking out plates and napkins. "I hope you like Thai."

Enigma opened his mouth to tell her he didn't know then closed it again, not certain how to answer. _Did_ he like Thai food? Normally he ate whatever was available. Food was food as far as he was concerned, but it seemed important to Alexis that he enjoy the offering so he smiled and nodded. "My favorite. Be right out."

~~O~~

Alexis watched Phil go into the bathroom and close the door as she set a place for each of them at the counter and thought about the day the attorney had brought the letter. She and her dad had been in the middle of one of their infamous laser tag games, the score tied, when he knocked. Still in full gear, she'd opened the door startling the man. He'd made her show him ID before giving her the envelope.

That had been six months after the alien attack over Manhattan. Now eighteen months later, Phil was back. Had the attorney been mistaken? Was Phil in WitSec? Did he really not remember?

He still treated her kindly and with respect just as he always had, but when he looked at her, there was only a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. It was at odds with the Phil she remembered, but utterly in line with the odd behavior.

At the beginning of their friendship, she'd had a sort of crush on him because he reminded her of her dad. When she talked, he listened. They'd laughed mostly, with only the occasional dip into seriousness, such as her break-up with Ashley and his with Abigail. Aside from the fact that he worked with Homeland Security in personnel management and logistics, Phil had seldom mentioned work. He was genuinely fascinated with her work in the ME's office at the NYPD, and would listen raptly as she described an especially interesting cause of death and even chuckled when she told him about the spleen that had burst when she dropped it on her second day. Sometimes they even shared a muffin or a sandwich. Now here he was acting so unlike himself.

_B__e cool. I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Like the entire universe has gone crazy. Wait! What if _I'm_ the one that's crazy? Insanity is inherited, right? Look at Dad and Grams!_

After setting a pair of the fancy chopsticks from her dad's collection on each plate, Alexis filled a tea strainer with loose tea and poured hot water over it. By the time Phil came out, it had steeped long enough. She poured them each a cup then took the seat next to him. "What happened to you, Phil? The attorney said you'd been killed during the invasion."

Phil took a bite of the Kung Pao chicken and shrugged. "Maybe I'm not him."

Alexis served herself a small spoonful of the chicken and shrimp over steamed rice then passed the container to her friend. "You _are_ him. I recognize your _voice_, the way you _walk_, even your mannerisms." She fell silent, both of them more intent on their food at the moment than was warranted.

Finally, he spoke. "As I have no memory beyond the last two years, I'll concede that I could be who you think I am."

~~O~~

The young woman sipped her tea watching him over the rim of the cup. She was trying to hide it, but he could sense her concern and wanted to do something to lighten it. His dilemma was that Alexis would settle for nothing less than the truth. Using the chopsticks, he plucked a shrimp from the lobster sauce and chewed to give himself time to think through all the implications of letting her in…again. Because he had no memory prior to just under two years ago, chances were that he very well could be her friend, Phil. He lifted the cup inhaling the fragrance of the white tea with its hints of jasmine and orchid before taking a long sip. Holding the cup in his hand, he let the warmth seep into him. For a man who trusted no one, not even his handler, he found it very easy to trust Alexis.

"Almost two years ago, I woke up in the isolation ward of a hospital with no memory. They told me I'd been injured during the battle, that I was part of a team evacuating civilians trapped inside a building. The roof collapsed. I was the only one to survive." His hand found the box hanging around his neck and pulled it out. "These are keeping me alive and allow me to function day to day."

Alexis put out her hand and he obligingly gave it to her. She opened the box, taking one of each color out and examining it. "Could I have them analyzed?"

"Sorry. That's all I have for now."

"For now? What's going on?"

Enigma finished off his tea then used the chopsticks to grab a spring roll. "The work I've been doing since my recovery is very…specialized. Very stressful. I needed some time off so I've gone off the grid."

A small crinkle appeared between her eyes. "Specialized how?"

"Can't say. But the people I work for don't like it when their employees take vacation without prior authorization." _Or start thinking for themselves._

Her blue eyes went very wide, tinged with fear again, and a healthy dose of curiosity. "And those people in the alley?"

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "They were sent to bring me in."

"They could've _asked_ instead of drugging you."

"And I would've refused. Apparently they were told not to take no for an answer." Should he tell her the rest? That they were assets just like him, trained to kill at a moment's notice? Until recently he hadn't had a problem with it. He wasn't sure what had changed, but something had.

It had all started in Paris, this restlessness. This feeling that more was going on than was obvious or that he'd been told.

His chems had been lost during a fight. The compartment had broken and they'd fallen into the sewer grating. And in the forty-eight hours it had taken him to get replacements, he'd begun to feel physically weak though not to the point that he couldn't function. His intellectual aptitude had remained the same. However, the dreams had started, and though the chems had done their job when he'd taken them, the dreams had continued to interrupt his sleep. This usually happened twenty-six hours after taking the purples if he wasn't able to take them on time.

Shifting guiltily, Alexis crossed her knees. "I had what was in the injector analyzed. It's a powerful sedative that should've made you sleep for at least ten hours, but you woke up long before that."

Enigma shrugged casually again. "I have a very high metabolism."

She looked down at her lap then back up to his face. "Since you don't remember your name, what should I call you?"

Her question gave him pause. He had no memory of being her friend and she could hardly call him by the code name assigned by his employers. "Phil works."

~~O~~

His arm around Kate's waist, Castle watched the aurora borealis light up the sky with shifting, swirling ribbons in green, red, pink, blue. The colors interspersed with streamers of white were constantly changing, merging, becoming more than just highly charged electrons from the solar winds interacting with elements in the Earth's atmosphere. They were "…magical."

Castle realized how reverential his voice sounded, but didn't care. If anyone would understand, it was the woman at his side. Her gloved hand touched him on the chest as she smiled and he knew the time was right. Taking her hand, he drew her to the steps that led to the back door of their villa. They were being kept clean of snow and ice by the service staff so their guests could come and go without fear of falling. He urged her to sit and dropped down next to her, their hips and thighs touching. Patting the pocket of his coat, he made sure the box he'd placed there earlier hadn't been lost. He left it there for now, choosing instead to take hold of her left hand, pulling the glove off one finger at a time.

"Castle!"

Lifting one eyebrow, he gave her a mischievous grin. "I have a plan." Holding her slender fingers between both of his, he said, "Katherine Beckett, I want you to know that having you by my side…completes me."

She snorted. "That is _so_ corny."

He nodded. "Yes, but it's also quite true." Waiting for a moment to prolong the agony for both of them, he reached into his pocket.

Kate rolled her eyes. "What's this all about?"

"Meeting you was one of the top three best days of my life." Chuckling, he looked down, then back into her eyes. "Right up there with the day Alexis was born and finally meeting my father. I cannot envision a day without you by my side." Castle knew that he would have to spell it out for her. "I love you, Kate."

"Love you too, Rick."

Opening the box, he held lifted out circle of gold with one perfect diamond, poised to slide it onto her left ring finger. "Marry me?"

For just a moment, Kate didn't say anything, too shocked at first to speak. Then she smiled as he slid the ring over her knuckle. "Took you long enough."

"I wanted the timing to be right."

She pulled him into a long, sweet kiss. "Mmm. Your timing was great."

Gasps from the guests drew their attention to an especially brilliant light show above them. Looking down into the eyes of the woman he loved, Castle realized that tonight was as close to perfection as he'd ever been. And it was _amazing_.

~~O~~

When Alexis got up to carry her plate to the sink, Enigma followed then returned for the leftover food. He closed the containers and set them on the center shelf of the refrigerator while she made more tea. Briefly, a picture of her wearing scrubs, safety goggles and latex gloves while standing over a dead body on a metal table slid across his vision like a strange lens then it was gone. "Where do the dead people fit in?"

"I work at the morgue. Dead people are kind of our thing." Her eyes narrowed. "You really don't remember giving me grief about my pink scrubs?"

One side of Enigma's mouth lifted in a half smile. "Why would I? I thought we were friends." He needed to start thinking of himself as Phil or this situation would get weird really fast. Not that it wasn't already.

"That's what friends do. They tease each other and even hurl the occasional friendly insult."

His smile turned into a smirk. "Did we braid each other's hair and talk about boys?"

Alexis covered her mouth with the back of her left hand to keep from spitting tea. She swallowed, took another sip and wiped her mouth before replying. "Pretty sure your door swings the other way. And we only met in the coffee shop or the diner, and a few times you walked me home when it got late, but you'd never come up to meet Dad and Grams."

"Perhaps I didn't want them to get the wrong idea about our relationship."

"That's what you said, which is too bad because I think you and Dad would've liked each other."

The kettle whistled. Enigma…Phil refilled their cups and handed one to Alexis. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You're mysterious and cagey about what you do for a living. Dad, on the other hand, is insatiably curious and relentless when he wants something." She sipped the tea. "It's what makes him such a wonderful writer, and it's also how he and Kate finally ended up together."

At her admission, Phil now understood the entire bookshelf dedicated to a single author. "Your father is Richard Castle, the mystery writer."

"_Him_ you remember?" Her disappointed tone was belied by the twinkle in her eyes.

He shook his head and a brief moment of dizziness came over him. He waited for it to subside before speaking though Alexis didn't seem to notice. "I was looking at his collection. Very prolific."

"His Nikki Heat novels are based on his girlfriend, Kate. They took a trip to Canada to see the Northern Lights."

"The Aurora Borealis." His tone was contemplative and in his mind he could see the phenomenon. "The Germans held the belief that the fires were Valkyries riding through the air."

Alexis slid off her chair, leading the way to the comfortable leather sofa in the center of the room. "And the Fox Indians of Wisconsin believed the lights to be an ill omen, that the lights were the ghosts of slain enemies waiting to take revenge."

The dizziness returned to Phil, accompanied by a sudden wave of fatigue. With her looking right at him, there was no way he could hide the yawn or the way his eyes drooped closed for a moment. He opened them again when Alexis took his cup, set it next to hers on the coffee table then pulled him to his feet.

"Looks like the drugs are catching up to you." When they reached the stairs, she let go of his hand though she did keep a close watch to make sure he followed. "You can sleep in Dad's room. He and Kate won't be back for a couple of days."

"I should go."

She looked down at him from the top of the stairs when he stopped on the landing, arms crossed and one hip thrust to the side in a display of annoyance. "You're about to fall asleep standing up, Phil. And Dad won't mind."

Reluctantly, Phil continued the climb to the second floor, across the hall and into a room decorated with shades of brown and the occasional bright spot of color to keep it interesting. "I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

"It's a deal." Going into a walk-in closet, she emerged with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt for him to sleep in. "I'll do a perimeter check and set the alarm if it'll make you feel better."

"The only thing that would make me feel better…"

"…is a good night's sleep." At the open door, she faced him with a hand on the knob. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything." She closed the door quietly, her footsteps moving away from the room. He listened to her descend the stairs then the beep of the alarms being set.

Tossing his weapons on the end of the bed. Before getting under the covers, he hid the Walther, Sig and Berretta strategically around the room, and the Glock under the pillow giving it a knife for company. As an added precaution, he used ingenious methods to create an early warning system for the windows and the bedroom door, just in case.

From around his neck he took a small metal box. Inside were tiny blue, green and purple tablets. He went into the bathroom and took one of each with water. He'd have to think of something before he ran out of the meds that were keeping him alive. Find out where he could get more. There were only three of the purples left and the doctors told him it was the most important.

Getting into bed, he slipped one hand around that grip of the Glock and though he didn't want to, he fell asleep between two beats of his heart.

In the morning, Phil let the smell of coffee lead him down to the first floor where Alexis had her computer out and was typing away. She checked the time, pushed away from the bar counter and picked up her backpack. He stopped her on the way to the coat closet. "Where're you going?"

Surprised he would ask, she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her coat, flipped her long red hair outside then covered her head with a matching hat. "Our week at the beach was canceled due to storms so I've changed it to a matinée and lunch at Fire and Brimstone."

Reaching under his jacket, he pulled out the Sig, checked it over then shoved it back into place. "I'm going with you."

"I can take care of myself, Phil. I…"

Cocking his head to the side, Phil motioned for quiet. Alexis started to speak and he shushed her again, his features hardened at what he heard out in the hall. A finger to his lips, he took her hand and dragged her with him into the coat closet.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Three**

Tired, but in the way that came from working hard and enjoying that work, Martha Rogers approached the front door of her son's loft, keys in one hand and the other dragging a wheeled suitcase. The play she'd been co-starring in had closed down for the next ten days. She came to a halt several feet from the door. It had been kicked in, the wood on the doorjamb and surrounding the knob splintered.

Afraid of what she might see, Martha gasped as one hand pushed the door open, a gasp coming from her throat. Every inch of the place had been torn apart. Food and broken dishes littered the floor, counters and chairs. In the living room and den, all the books and knick-knacks had been tossed around. Some of the more fragile items had shattered leaving glass and ceramic shards waiting for unwary bare feet to step on them. The sofa and chairs had been slit, stuffings spilling out as if the furniture had vomited.

Reaching for her cell phone, Martha didn't even think about going upstairs. Scrolling her contact list, she dialed a number. "Detective Esposito, this is Martha Rogers, Richard's mother…no, they haven't returned yet, but that's not why I called. I just came home and someone's broken in and…Oh, good Lord! You really think they might still be here?" She lowered her voice as she edged toward the door. "I'll wait for you and Detective Ryan in the lobby."

~~O~~

The car screeched to a stop, Ryan and Esposito jumping out before it stopped shaking. Martha waited for them at the door. Both men looked concerned as they led her to a cushioned chair and urged her to sit. Esposito crouched in front of her. "You okay, Martha?"

"Yes. Fine. I _know_ they weren't home, but can't help worrying. It's frightening coming in to find such devastation."

The two men exchanged glances. They'd been partners so long they didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking. "Wait here. We'll check it out."

Esposito beat Ryan to the elevator, Martha's voice chasing them across the lobby. "Be careful, boys."

When the elevator door opened on Castle's floor, Ryan took his gun out as they approached the door a half step ahead of his partner. They looked at the door then each other and nodded. Esposito eased it open, Ryan passing him as they both called out, "NYPD! On the floor! Now!"

Esposito went down the hall to the bathroom then rejoined Ryan and together they swept the first floor. "Clear?"

Nodding, Ryan said, "Clear. Upstairs?"

"Let's do it."

This time Esposito went first. Flattening himself against the wall on the landing, his weapon aimed upward. "DB on the stairs." One step at a time Esposito climbed up to the body of a man lying with his head facing down and legs on the second floor landing. "Neck's broken."

Stepping over the man, Ryan went into the first bedroom while Esposito checked out the other two rooms and the bathroom between them. Ryan cleared the room, obviously Castle's bedroom, then stuck his head out the door. "We got another one in here."

"Someone was definitely looking for something."

Ryan shoved his weapon into the holster on his right hip. "Didn't find it though."

Tilting his head to the side in agreement, Esposito took out his phone. "I'll call Lanie."

Squatting down next to the man on the floor, Ryan began searching his pockets. Esposito dialed the phone as he stepped into the hall. He was back in just a few moments. "She's on her way. Bringing that new intern, Chavez."

Shivering in disgust, Ryan got to his feet. "That guy gives me the creeps."

"Me too. What you got?"

"Two pops in the chest at close range. No wallet. No keys. Just a cheap watch and weapons."

Esposito scratched the back of his head. "Same with the other one." He looked around at the mess. "Castle is going to be _pissed_ when he sees this."

Ryan was shaking his head. "He'll just be glad no one was home. Alexis has been on vacation with friends the last three days, and Martha just got home from a play."

His eyebrows drawing together, Esposito gestured vaguely down the hall. The detective went into the bedroom at the far end of the hall, returning with a crumpled piece of paper. "Found a receipt in the trash. It's from the Java Loft just down the street. Time stamped late last night."

Getting to his feet, Ryan took a photo of the man on the floor while Esposito headed down the stairs to begin searching. Ryan heard the refrigerator open and close then the cabinets as he snapped a photo of the man on the stairs. "How much you wanna bet these guys are wanted for B and E?"

"I never bet on a sure thing." He met Ryan as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Using his thumb, Ryan scrolled the info that had been sent to his phone. "These guys aren't in the system."

"With the kind of heat they were packin'? Gotta be a screw-up somewhere."

Shrugging, Ryan shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket as the elevator dinged. Together they went to the door holding it open for Lanie and Chavez. The cops watched the intern as he pushed the stretcher giving each other a wry grin. Chavez was old for an intern, slender to the point of being skinny and stood five seven at most with dark unruly hair parted on the left and an intense dark stare. He seldom blinked, further creeping out his co-workers, especially Castle.

Lanie pulled on a pair of gloves as she climbed the stairs. "CSU's right behind me and they'll be bringing up the stretcher for contestant number two." She knelt next to the man on the stairs, her hands making a swift yet thorough assessment. "Well into rigor. Dead maybe six hours." Her hands felt along his ribs. "Broken neck and ribs. Bruises to the chest, upper abdomen, face. He put up a fight, but he also took a beatin'."

"Yeah, we noticed. Broke his neck when he fell."

"That wasn't it." Lanie mimed twisting. "Someone beat the crap outta him, broke his neck and just dropped him here." She lifted the dean man's right hand, cuts and scrapes all over the fingers and knuckles. "He got in a few shots himself."

Ryan aimed a thumb over his shoulder. "The other one's in there." Lanie gave Chavez a few terse instructions then followed Ryan into the room. "Tapped twice in the chest at close range."

Lanie did her examination as she talked. "This one got the beat down too, right before that double dose of lead poisonin'. Wrist on his right hand is broken. He and his killer probably fought over the gun." Getting to her feet, she tossed a quick glance in Esposito's direction. "I'll know more when I get 'em on the table."

Holding up a sealed evidence bag, Ryan sighed. "Looks like he was shot with his own gun."

"And you know this _how?_" Lanie gestured for Chavez.

"Two rounds missing from his piece and his was the only one fired."

"Well I hope you don't mind if CSU checks ballistics."

Ryan shrugged. "Nope. Whoever did the deed has some mad skills. They had back-up because the place was tossed _after_ these two bought the farm. Probably won't find much on the DB's if their pals didn't bother to take the bodies." After a quick glance at Esposito as he helped Chavez and one of the CSU's carry the first victim down the stairs to the stretcher, Ryan smiled fondly at Lanie, lowering his voice. "Don't give up on him. You two are great together."

The medical examiner scoffed as she got to her feet indicating her shapely figure. "He better make up his mind soon. This is _way_ too good to stay on the shelf for much longer."

"For what it's worth, I agree. You could make the move yourself, you know." Ryan took out his pad and pen. "I'm gonna start canvassing. Castle's neighbors _love_ to gossip, especially about him."

~~O~~

The lingering effects of the sedative had finally worn off leaving Enigma unable to sleep at all. Instead, he prowled the interior of the empty warehouse he and Alexis had taken refuge in when they'd run from the hired guns who'd broken into the loft. In a dark corner, the young woman slept off their mad dash to freedom.

But that freedom wouldn't last long if he couldn't stop the program's assets from trying to kill them. If it was just himself, he could handle anything they threw at him, even death, but he would _not_ let Alexis suffer that fate. If what she said was true, that they were friends, then it was his duty to make certain she was returned to her family unbroken. Not like he was. Something had to be damaged inside or he would know who this young woman was and not have to take her word for it.

He doubted that their relationship was more than just friends because he couldn't see himself as her lover. The feelings that tickled at the back of his mind were those of an older brother or uncle.

Checking the time, he saw there were still several hours before he needed to take the chems again, _if_ he kept to the twenty-four hour schedule. From past experience, he knew that the timeframe could be stretched past thirty-six hours so until he could locate a source to replenish his supply. Given the circumstances, he decided to begin taking half doses every other day.

At the moment their greatest need, aside from hiding, was water. In the office, he found a pad covered with dust. Flipping to a clean page, he tore it out, wrote a quick note and slipped it under Alexis' hand where it lay on her stomach. Taking off his jacket, he draped it over her before going out the door. He had some cash, more than enough to keep them off the grid for a while. Arriving at the discount store he mused that, due to the sheer size of the store, the likelihood that he would be remembered was small.

Choosing readymade food items that didn't need to be refrigerated, bottles of water and two non-descript backpacks, he headed for the clothing department. For himself he chose khakis, plain white T-shirts, boring flannel shirts, a jacket and ball cap. But when it came to buying clothing for Alexis, he was at a loss as to sizes. She was slender, but not skinny, and maybe five four.

Glancing around, Enigma saw a woman about the same general height and body shape as Alexis pushing a stroller. He started sorting through blouses on the same rack watching to see what sizes she chose. Satisfied with the information he'd gathered, he went to another rack. He checked the sizes then chose dull dark clothing, very different from what Alexis was now wearing along, and a floppy brimmed hat to hide that red hair until they could do something about it. With a grin at the fuss she'd make, Enigma-he really had to get used to being called Phil-pushed his cart to the self-serve lane.

On the way out, he picked up two burner phones and cheap sunglasses.

~~O~~

"Phil?" Yawning, Alexis sat up, the jacket covering her falling into her lap. Crinkling paper sent her hand burrowing under the denim. Flipping the page over, she rolled her eyes and grinned. The pad was yellowed around the edges and on it Phil had written, _Without rain, there would be no life._

And just that quickly, it all came back to her. The men breaking into the loft, Phil telling her to hide, the sound of fighting and the pops of silenced weapons, Phil taking her by the hand and leading her down the building's back stairs and through the streets of Manhattan. They'd hopped buses and subway cars, changing at random, or maybe according to a plan Phil had in his head.

She'd been scared when the door had been kicked in. More scared than she'd been since the day she and Sara had been kidnapped, but with her friend at her side and the unruffled way Phil had issued orders in that no nonsense tone as if it were something he did every day, she just knew they'd make it. At this moment, all she really wanted was to see her dad, grandmother and Kate. They were her family.

Getting to her feet, Alexis shoved her arms into Phil's too big jacket to combat the chilly air and prowled the enormous room filled with empty and broken crates and disused pallet jacks, forklifts and carts. She found the bathrooms near the office. However, she would have to be way more desperate than she was at this moment to use either of them. The paper towels in the dispenser weren't too bad. Taking a handful, she returned to her sleeping place, turning in a circle to get her bearings then headed for the far corner.

Peeking out the window into the dimming afternoon sun, she spied a place that would serve her purpose. Easing open the door next to the loading dock, stuck a piece of wood in the jamb to keep from being locked out and went behind the rusted out dumpster.

About to go back inside, she backed up behind the dumpster again at the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel. Crouching, she edged one eye around the side relieved when she saw who it was. Stepping out into the open, she smiled. "Please tell me you bought hand sanitizer."

Phil returned her smile, rummaged in one of the backpacks, his hand coming out with a plastic bottle. He tossed it to her and she caught it with both hands. "Thanks. I'd rather not come down with some disgusting disease."

He opened the door ushering her in ahead of him. Once inside, he locked the door and handed her one of the backpacks. Hooking the bag over her right shoulder, she dug her cell out of a back pocket. Hitting the power button, she asked, "What's in the packs?"

"Everything we need to change our appearances before we leave."

"Okay. I'm just gonna let Ryan and Esposito know I'm okay." She scrolled her contact list, yelping when Phil took the phone, dropped it to the floor and brought a hammer down on it repeatedly. Picking up he broken pieces, he removed the battery and the SIM card for later disposal. "Hey! I still had two months on that plan!"

"They can track us with the GPS." His smile was gone now, replaced by a hard and unwavering scowl as he turned her toward a dark corner. "Get changed. We have to go before they pinpoint our location."

"But…"

Shaking his head, he opened his backpack and pulled out clothing. "No time. I'll explain on the way."

"Just let me call Ryan and Esposito. They can help us."

He took the gun from the small of his back, laid it on top of a creaky crate and stripped out of his jacket. "No, they _can't_."

"They're _cops,_ Phil."

"Your friends are no match for the people who are after us."

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Alexis snatched up the clothing Phil had bought for her. "Who _are_ they? And why do _I_ have to go with you?"

"We were seen together and the people I used to work for are very resourceful. They tracked us to your apartment and sent local muscle after us."

"Used to?"

An ironic smile crossed Phil's face. "I think it's safe to assume I've been redacted."

Something about his tone bothered Alexis. More than that. It was his whole demeanor. He'd always been calm, yet watchful, but not in a way that said "paranoid." He heard and sensed things that no normal human could. Like when he heard the men in the hall before they broke into the loft. After her abduction, she'd been more than a little scared when the front door was kicked in, but she was also angry. Phil had tucked her into the back of the closet telling her to stay put. The sound of fighting had her covering her ears to block it out, certain that at any moment one of them would open the door and find her.

The fighting stopped, the pop-pop of a silenced gun then the stairs creaked as someone climbed to the second floor. Heavy thuds had come from above just as Alexis had pushed aside the coats and garment bags so she could breathe. Then the door was opened from the outside. Afraid to move, she'd held her breath until Phil's voice urged her to hurry.

And now here they were in a dusty, germ infested, broken down, disgusting warehouse. It made her skin itch just to think about it. Reluctantly, Alexis went around the other side of a stack of pallets to change. "Where're we going?"

"We have to get out of the city before they send one of the other assets after us."

"Assets? You aren't making sense. Just tell me…" A sharp sound spurred Alexis to hurry.

"Later. I promise."

The last thing she put on was the hat, pulling it down in front to hide her face. With the backpack in one hand and her discarded clothes in the other, she came around the pallet stack in time to see Phil quickly tugging a white T-shirt down to his waist. Not fast enough to cover the end of a faint scar in the middle of his chest below the sternum. She wanted to ask about it, but saved it for when they weren't running for their lives. Tapping him on the shoulder, she gave him a questioning glance. With a few hand motions, he told her they had to hurry. As they neared the door, Phil stopped. "What?"

Phil motioned. "Your hair."

"Oh." Alexis stuffed the long red strands up under the hat adding an eye roll at the end. "Let's just go. Can I at least call my dad?" She wanted to slap him when he shook his head.

"Too risky." He opened the door just a crack before slipping out and motioning for her to follow.

"Where are we going?"

Hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, Phil kept his eyes moving taking in everything. "Our first stop is Atlantic City."

Tired of not getting straight answers, Alexis decided to just go with it for now. "Then where?"

Phil handed her a subway token. "Detroit."

~~O~~

"Castle! Wake up!"

The author rolled over and reached for his fiancée, but Kate had already jumped out of bed and was dragging suitcases from the closet, her cell tucked between her head and shoulder. "Can't we sleep a little longer?"

"Ryan's on the phone. Someone broke into your apartment. Tore the place apart. We have to leave on the next plane."

"I'm up!" That woke Castle faster than being drenched in cold water. On his feet, he slumped in relief. "Mother and Alexis are both out of town. Everything else is replaceable."

But Kate wasn't listening. "Yeah…Got it. We'll be there in a couple of hours…Send unnies to pick us up…I'll call with the exact time…Thank Espo for us." She ended her call and took his hand. "Rick…"

A sense of dread came over him. "You only call me Rick when it's bad news." Taking a deep breath, he waited.

"Martha came home to find the front door kicked in. Espo and Ryan found two bodies in your apartment." She talked as she went into the bathroom while Castle took clothes from the drawers and closet.

"At least Alexis is out of town. I should call her." Taking out his phone, he called his daughter's cell phone, punching the end key in annoyance when it went right to voicemail.

"She's probably on the beach with her friends ogling the life guards."

Castle made a sound of irritation. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't."

"Let's just get home. The boys are taking care of your mom and Alexis is safely out of the country."

He stopped packing to take Kate in his arms with a loving smile. "You always know what to say."

After an all too brief kiss, he released her and they finished packing except for their traveling clothes. Kate showered while Castle made them coffee and breakfast of leftovers from the previous night's party. And just as he finished eating, the car arrived to take them to the airport. He tried calling his daughter again, but it went to voicemail once more. Taking that as a sign that she was having a good time, Castle settled back to relax on the flight home. At least he tried. On the flight, he and Beckett went over the extensive list of perps they'd put in jail together and separately to determine a likely culprit. It was a very long list by the time they landed in La Guardia.

~~O~~

The train trip from Atlantic City to Detroit would take a full twenty-four hours. If he'd been by himself, Phil would've slept in the club car, but that wouldn't do for Alexis so he booked a cabin with two beds. They would be traveling as father and daughter, but if she was bothered by them sharing a room, he'd go to the club car. Their backpacks would keep anyone from commenting on their lack of luggage. With the floppy hat and huge sunglasses, Alexis would go pretty much unnoticed. He on the other hand would be doing most of the talking, but with the non-descript ball cap, aviator sunglasses, and several days' beard growth, he would be just as forgettable. Now all they needed were names to go with their new looks. He was working around to mentioning it when she saved him the trouble. Sort of.

"Dad'll be worried. Let me just leave him a message."

Taking one of the burner phones from his backpack, he gave it to her. "Make it short. Less than thirty seconds. Don't tell him where we're going or why, and don't mention me _or_ the break-in."

She rolled her eyes. "I _won't_." Turning on the phone, she waited impatiently through the boot up and dialed. Her voice cheerful but not too much so, she said, "Hi Dad. My trip to Bermuda was canceled so I'm taking a road trip with a friend. I'm doing just fine and I'll call you again in a few days. Love you."

With one eyebrow lifted, she handed him the phone which he tore apart, dropping the pieces into sewer grates as they neared the subway entrance then the battery inside. The SIM card he bent in half until it broke. Slanting his eyes to the side, Phil watched Alexis' face. Her smooth features were carefully arranged to show no expression though her eyes told a different story. They were flat and lifeless, without their usual sparkle.

"Thank you for trusting me."

"That's what friends do, Phil. They trust each other."

In a small expression of wry humor, he tilted his head. "I'm out of practice. For the last two years I haven't had anyone that I could trust as completely as I do you."

~~O~~

That revelation knocked out most of the irritation Alexis felt with her friend. "But you don't remember me."

"There's just something about you, Lexi. My instincts tell me you're someone I can be myself around without…"

"Without thinking I'm eventually going to try to kill you?" He snorted a laugh sounding so much like the old Phil that Alexis smiled fondly and wrapped her hand round his elbow. "Now that I'm part of this whole conspiracy thing, we'll need aliases. How about Grace O'Malley and Richard Burke?"

"A sixteenth century pirate and her second husband? Grace works for you, but we'll use the surname Parker."

Nodding, Alexis accepted the change. "And you can be my father, Steve. Common, but not too."

"You seem to be taking this a little too well."

Alexis shrugged. "I was kidnapped about six months after the invasion and taken to Paris. My grandfather's enemies used me to try to get to him. It backfired of course."

"And your grandfather is…"

"A spy. The name he gave Dad was Jackson Hunt, but it's an alias." Phil didn't say anything for a while. Alexis sensed the wheels turning inside his head and pounced on it. "You know who he is, don't you?"

They descended the stairs, Phil leading the way to the station that would take them on the first leg of their journey. "Jackson Hunt is a name sometimes used by one of the few people I trust implicitly."

She was warmed by the fact that he'd given _her_ that honor as well.

~~O~~

Phil contemplated the question put to him by Alexis. For some reason it brought to mind a spider and a bird of prey standing alongside a one-eyed jack. Leaning close and lowering his voice, he said, "If anyone asks, your name is Grace Parker. Say the name."

"Grace Parker. Where are we from?"

"Pick a place you've lived or that you know well."

Her face scrunched in thought. "Southampton? We have a house there."

His lips barely moving, Phil said, "Too close."

"Uh…Los Angeles."

The subway car screeched to a stop and they joined the other passengers, taking a seat in the corner where Phil kept his eyes moving, scanning the faces of everyone on board. "Do you play a musical instrument?"

"The violin. Why?"

"We're Steve and Grace Parker. We're in New York for your audition at Julliard. Say it."

"My name is Grace Parker. I'm auditioning for Julliard."

Phil's eyes settled on a man who seemed at odds with his surroundings. After a few moments, he dismissed him as a tourist who had gotten on the wrong train. "Again."

Alexis huffed at him, but did as he requested. "My name is Grace Parker. I'm auditioning for Julliard. What about ID?"

"I have a contact in Atlantic City who'll get us what we need. We'll change our identities as the need arises. But for now, smile. This is your first trip to the city and you're fascinated by everything you see."

For the next couple of hours, Alexis did as he instructed without question. They would come later and Phil had to decide just how much to tell her. The fact that she was Jackson Hunt's granddaughter told him a lot more than she realized.

They arrived in Atlantic City without incident, hopped on a city bus and rode to a quiet suburban neighborhood where they walked two blocks to a small well-kept brick house. The door was answered by a stooped man in his late sixties. "Uncle Marcus."

The old man frowned at them through thick glasses. "Who are _you?_"

"It's been a long time. I'm your nephew, Steve Parker. This is my daughter, Grace."

His wrinkled face split into a grin. "Steve! I haven't seen you since you were a boy. And so good to meet you, Grace. Come in! Come in!" The door shut behind them and Marcus's grin disappeared though his scrutiny stayed as he ushered them into a room filled with electronic equipment, a sofa and several chairs. The walls were lined with books, mostly first editions and technical manuals. Marcus settled into a padded office chair while Phil and Alexis took the sofa. "What do you need?"

"The usual. At least four sets. One we'll take with us and pick the others up in the usual places."

Marcus turned to the bank of monitors and computers, his fingers flying over the keys. "It'll take a couple of hours. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

"Thanks."

The older man grinned, his shoulder length white hair falling forward and he bent to his task. "Wait till you get my bill."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Four**

Phil led Alexis into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator while she went through the cabinets. Pulling off the hat, she tossed it in a chair. "How long is this going to take?"

"Not bored already, are you?"

"No. After I was kidnapped, my dad got very…protective. This is gonna drive him, Kate and Grams nuts."

"Understandable."

"What am I gonna tell him about…" she waved her arms encompassing their situation, "…this?"

Phil turned from the refrigerator with lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato and condiments. Reaching out her left hand, Alexis snagged the partial loaf of whole wheat bread. She took two plates from the cabinet above and carried them to the table as he joined her. "We'll have to see how it plays out."

"That's _not_ an answer, Phil."

"Since we're traveling as father and daughter, you should call me Dad."

Frustrated with his explanations, or rather the lack of same, Alexis slammed a plate down in front of Phil. "There's only _one_ person I call that and you're not him."

As soon as she said it, Alexis was sorry though Phil didn't seem to be insulted or bothered over much by her sharply spoken words. He calmly built his sandwich while she did the same accompanied by beeps, whirrs, clicks and occasional muttering from the other room. "Want something to drink?"

She looked at him and away, nodding. From the corner of her eye she watched him take out a pitcher of lemonade and pour them each a glass, setting one near her plate. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a small sip. "Sorry I snapped. It's not your fault."

"I'm not sure whose fault it is or that's where I'd be." He pulled out the chain that held his meds, chems he'd called them, and just stared at the box. "But you might want to hold onto that apology."

"Why?" He pointed to her head and Alexis' hand touched it protectively. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's beautiful, but that's the point."

Groaning, she dropped the last bite of sandwich back on the plate. "I have to _cut_ it?"

~~O~~

Phil flashed her an apologetic smile. "Our descriptions will be out to all law enforcement agencies and my guess is for you they'll start with 'she has long, red hair'."

The medical student grudgingly agreed with a small groan.

Going into the living room, Phil returned with a box of hair dye in a brand that promised to add natural highlights while being kind your hair and the environment. He took a pair of scissors from one of the drawers, nodding down the hall. "Let's get it over with."

Getting to her feet, Alexis followed Phil down the hall. He pushed open the bathroom door then followed her in with a kitchen chair he'd appropriated. She sat down and allowed him to drape a towel around her shoulders. "Just how much are you going to cut off?"

"It'll have to be a very different style from what you have now." He ran his fingers through her hair testing the texture and thickness. "And I promise not to make you look ridiculous."

~~O~~

"Do you know anything about cutting hair?" The slight tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness.

Opening the hair dye, he pulled the plastic gloves out then set the bottles and conditioner aside. "I spent three months undercover in Seattle as a hairstylist, and had quite the following."

"And if you tell me about it you'll have to kill me? That is _so_ cliché, Phil."

His bantering tone turned serious. "No. But there are others who wouldn't hesitate." He wrapped a rubber band around the hair just at her shoulders and cut the ponytail off, feeling her wince with each snip. Setting the lopped off strands aside, he put on the plastic gloves and mixed the hair dye. Alexis didn't say anything more as he squirted the dye onto her hair until every strand was covered.

When he was done, Alexis roamed around the house, purposely ignoring all of the mirrors. At twenty minutes, Phil sent her to wash and condition, telling her to call him when she was done so he could finish cutting it. "Take a shower too, if you like. Marcus will provide us with at least one change of clothes. We can get more on the road."

Grabbing her backpack, she went back into the bathroom and closed the door. Phil stood at the front window looking out. He didn't worry about being seen because all the windows in the house were modified "smart" windows. An electric current ran through the glass turning them into one-way mirrors much like those used in police interrogation rooms. He could see out, but no one could see in. His mind counted off the time and when he reached seventeen minutes, he heard Alexis' voice coming down the hall. "I'm ready."

The bathroom door stood open and Alexis was already seated in the chair. Phil combed through the much shorter length to remove any tangles and as it dried, her hair became wavy. With the scissors, he evened out the length, adding in some layers to enhance the waves. He used a brush and blow dryer to complete the transformation. When finished, he whipped the towel off with a flourish. "You can look now."

Alexis stood, took a deep breath and faced the mirror.

~~O~~

The bathroom door shut behind Phil closing her in with the gentle smell of the all-natural hair dye mixed with conditioner and some unidentifiable soap fragrance. Alexis waited until his footsteps faded before opening her eyes. Her mouth dropped open as the face of the stranger in the mirror looked back.

The long red hair she'd inherited from her mother was gone, replaced by a shorter style in brown with subtle highlights and parted it on the left. Her bangs, swept to the side, reached below her eyebrows, one lock falling over her forehead making her look sophisticated and chic. It emphasized her cheekbones in a way the red never had giving her the appearance of maturity. "Dad and Grams are going to _freak_."

Leaning close to the mirror, she examined the subtleties of color in more detail deciding she liked it well enough but would be glad to go back to her natural color when this was all over. Picking up the ponytail, she opened a drawer and dropped it inside, not at all surprised to see others in various colors, textures and lengths. _Marcus-if that's his real name-must do this a lot. And that's another thing Phil will have to tell me about when this is all over._

Brushing her hands through her new, shorter 'do making it bounce, Alexis exhaled loudly, turned out the light and joined the two men in the living room.

~~O~~

Phil thought the golden brown with lighter highlights looked great on Alexis. It gave her a spark of wildness that she'd been lacking before. Not that she wasn't wise to the ways of the world, but now she looked the part. The new color added to the image. Men would be falling all over themselves to talk to her, and that could be a problem. They might have to change their plans slightly. Backing up, Phil left Alexis alone to get used to the new look.

Out in the living room, he pulled a chair up next to Marcus, but before he could say a word, his friend spoke.

"What's with the kid, Steve?"

All this time and Phil still marveled at the ease with which Marcus fell into a rhythm with each new persona that was presented to him. It also annoyed him that Marcus was asking questions, but really, it shouldn't have. In the last eighteen months, Alexis is the only person he'd ever brought to a safe house with him. Not that Marcus had always lived _here_. Marcus wasn't even his real name. Like Phil, Marcus moved around, changing names and residences the way some people changed their clothes. "There were several…incidents in New York."

"Got the word through my contact at NYPD. They've told the news agencies it was a drug buy gone wrong and a break-in, respectively."

"Don't all drug buys go bad eventually?"

Marcus nodded. His disdain for drug dealers went deeper than most, and Phil often wondered how his backstory read. His friend may have spent so many years off the grid that he couldn't remember his birth name, but that didn't mean he was a bad person. Phil had no idea where Marcus had grown up, guessing that it hadn't been in the US. According to the underlying inflections and word pronunciations that he'd obviously worked hard to hide, Marcus was more than likely from Canada. Ontario, perhaps. It was also of no issue, completely not pertinent to their friendship.

"She's a friend, Marcus. _Just_ a friend."

Marcus spared him a quick glance and a lopsided grin. "You may be…whatever it is you are, but a cradle robber you aren't. Grace has an old soul, but she's not more than twenty-one, twenty-two." Glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice, Marcus added, "Not many are going to believe she's your daughter."

Phil shrugged, a bland expression crossing his features. "We'll keep our plans fluid, as always. Because of her grandfather, Grace has untapped talents inside her. This little…adventure just may bring them into the light. And who knows? It could send her on an entirely new career path."

Marcus twitched one shoulder. His signal that he was changing the subject. "I've set up a total of five identities for the two of you, including Grace and Steve Parker. If you need more, let me know and I'll have them sent to the usual places. Just need photos."

Phil and Marcus looked up when Alexis stopped in the doorway, brushing the bangs from her eyes with a nervous gesture. "I could get used to it, I guess. What's next…Dad?"

An odd sensation shimmied through Phil's stomach when Alexis called him Dad. Part thrill, part disappointment telling him that he had no children of his own in the before time. Brooding about it wouldn't help, so he pushed it into the back of his mind as he got to his feet. "Marcus?"

Over the next thirty minutes, Marcus directed Phil and Alexis as he snapped photos for passports, driver's licenses, student ID's, and "family" pictures. Somehow, he was able to reverse age them so they appeared younger than they were and giving credence to their story of being father and daughter. He also included several photos with Grace's "mother." With his ability to absorb information quickly, Phil easily assimilated the made up histories of his aliases while Alexis did the same. He would test her knowledge between here and the train station but didn't think there would be a problem.

Marcus walked them to the back door, engaging the lock and resetting the alarm as soon as the door closed.

Alexis didn't speak and Phil wondered what was going through her mind. She seemed to be taking this all a little too well, and it set Phil's instincts on edge. At some point, he expected her to stop cooperating and start demanding answers. He just hoped he was ready to give them when the time came. They were most certainly in danger if they stayed together and he could move about more freely and inconspicuously alone, but then he wouldn't be able to protect her.

She'd saved his life when she insisted on taking him into her home and he would repay that kindness with doing everything he could to return her to her family unharmed…or give up his own life in the process.

~~O~~

Flashing his badge gained him unquestioned entrance into the apartment building bustling with cops and residents milling about talking in low voices, speculating about what had happened to their famous mystery writer neighbor. Listening with one ear, he discovered that while they thought this Richard Castle person odd, they were also quite fond of him and his eccentric ways.

Most of the cops ignored him as they moved around him and though he pretended not to see it, two detectives in their early thirties, obviously partners, pretended not to watch his trek down the hall, their glares deepening the closer he got to the crime scene. He came to a halt when both men stepped into his path.

"Help you with something, pal?" the Hispanic man asked with a hard edge to his voice.

"Yeah. This is an active crime scene," the brown haired man stated shortly.

The stranger had seen this a hundred times. These boys wanted to let the newcomer know onto whose turf he'd wandered. Marking their territory, so to speak. Relaxing his own stance as a show of submission, he held up the badge and ID still in his left hand. "Dominic Trask, Homeland Security. Who's in charge here?"

~~O~~

"That would be me." Kate appeared at Ryan's side, her badge on display as well as she made introductions. "Detective Beckett. Detectives Ryan and Esposito, and the owner, Richard Castle."

Trask nodded. "Detectives. Mr. Castle."

Meeting his eyes unwaveringly, Kate asked, "Why is Homeland Security so interested in a double homicide?"

"Your vics are on our watch list. What happened?"

Kate led the way inside the apartment where the CSU was still working. "The first vic died of a broken neck. He was found at the top of the stairs. Vic number two was found in the master bedroom shot twice with his own weapon."

Esposito took up the thread. "Yeah. Only his prints were on it, but the ME says the angle is wrong for a self-inflicted wound."

"Then there's this…" Ryan used a tablet to call up the security footage from the hallway and lobby. A man in his mid-forties was holding Alexis' hand as they ran the length of the hall and disappeared into the stairwell. Ryan tapped the screen and the view changed. Alexis burst into the lobby, motioned toward the back of the building and took the man's hand again. They moved out of camera range with Alexis in the lead this time.

"Our facial rec came up empty on him too." Kate shared a glance with her team when Trask inhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing. "You know him?"

Trask now seemed to be even more tense, if that was possible. He made a barely discernible pause before responding. "No. Who's the red-head?"

"My daughter. She's only twenty-one. He has to be at least twice her age," Castle responded without inflection. Kate knew he was panicking inside, and so was she. As a cop, she was better at setting her emotions aside while Castle wasn't. It was just one of the things she loved about him. She already thought of Alexis as her step-daughter. The wedding would just make it official. Her thumb rubbed the back of the engagement ring, a habit she'd developed in just the nineteen hours since it had been put on her finger by the man she would marry.

Schooling her features, Kate touched Castle on the arm. "Play the phone messages."

Castle held out his cell phone so the others could listen. When it ended, he hit the end key angrily. "Ever since the kidnapping, we use codes when leaving a message. The phrase 'I'm doing just fine' means 'I'm with a friend and we're in danger.' I received _this_ message just before our plane landed at La Guardia…"

"_Hi, Dad. It's me again. I'm still doing just fine. There's supposed to be storms this weekend so take your umbrella. Oh, and Sophia called._"

The relaxed stance was back though there was still something in Trask's eyes. The pain of loss had been joined by rage. Not directed at Kate or her team making her pity the poor b***** Trask would hunt down when this was over. The HLS agent shrugged. "And?"

Kate held in a sigh as she gestured for Trask to follow her inside the apartment for a walk-through while Castle explained. "The word storm alludes to my Derek Storm series. A little over three years ago, we found out that Sophia Turner-the inspiration for Clara Strike-was actually a KGB mole who had infiltrated the CIA and was left out to dry when the Soviet Union collapsed."

Picking his way carefully over and around the stuff spread all over the floor, Trask snorted. "Don't get it."

Again touching Castle's hand so he wouldn't make an angry retort, Kate answered the unasked question. "It means that Alexis has reason to believe the danger will come from someone posing as a government agent."

A short series of musical notes indicated the detective had a new message. Her eyes went from the phone to Trask then to her team. "And since you check out, Agent Trask, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you're the real deal."

She had to give Trask credit for not batting an eye at the revelation that they'd checked up on him. Either his acting skills would earn him an Academy award, or he was who he appeared to be.

Taking a pad and pen from his pocket, Trask flipped it open to the first unused page. "Wanna catch me up?"

Nodding at Ryan, Kate touched the back of Castle's hand with hers just to let him know she was there for him. He returned the gesture then shoved both hands in his pockets while Ryan and Esposito gave Trask a rundown of the events of the day.

~~O~~

From inside a vacant apartment in Manhattan, the man known to some as Jackson Hunt peered through a pair of binoculars. He _had_ been watching the building directly across from his vantage point until his attention was drawn to the street. With an attitude of boredom that was anything but, a brown haired man climbed out of a government issued sedan, flashing his ID at the officers guarding the entrance. Before making his way inside, he glanced up at the sky as if he'd heard or sensed something.

Hunt recognized him, nodding in satisfaction that someone he knew and trusted was on the job. Now Hunt could go back to his life knowing that his family would be well taken care of. But just to be sure, he'd stay around a little longer.

With one hand, Hunt stuck an earwig in his left ear as the other hand flipped the switch on a small transmitter activating the bug he'd placed inside the copy of Casino Royale that now had a place in the library of his son, Richard Castle. It allowed him to hear everything said inside the loft as he momentarily left his post to attend to some personal business.

He was back in short order and went back to watching his son and the others move through the mess, hitting all the high points of the incident.

Hunt's bushy eyebrows drew together when the man he knew by the name of Dominic Trask left the building taking off his jacket and loosening his tie as he got back in the car and drove away. Trask's interest had been piqued by the video and voice mail messages as Hunt had intended when he sent the clip of the meeting with his contact in Paris and the second one taken by the ATM camera across from the coffee shop.

He and the man in the video had worked a few ops together back in the day and Hunt had been saddened at the news of his passing during the invasion. But for all his experience, Hunt had no explanation for his former colleague's untimely return to the land of the living. It made no sense, and in Hunt's world, there had to be a method to the madness. Everything happened for a reason. All he had to do was stick around to find out the truth. It was only a matter of time because he always got answers.

~~O~~

Keeping his steps light to disguise the heaviness in his heart and mind, Trask returned to his vehicle, tossed his jacket in the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb at a sedate pace. Once out of sight of anyone who might've been watching the loft, he pulled down a narrow alley and parked between two enormous box trucks. He'd already checked this area out and disabled the cameras so he could work without worrying about being watched.

Leaving the motor running, he opened the glove compartment and removed a small device that he used to scan every inch of the car, locating several GPS tracking bugs hidden strategically around the outside. Flipping a concealed switch burned out the trackers bringing a self-satisfied smirk to his lips. "Better luck next time, pal."

Back on the road again, his company issued phone vibrated on the passenger seat. Without picking it up he knew who it would be. At the next light, he removed the battery and SIM card then took a sealed container from under the front passenger seat. Using his thumbprint to open it, he dropped the phone, battery and SIM card into the liquid watching it bubble and foam as it ate away at the metal and plastic. When all the pieces had dissolved, he capped the container and pushed it out of sight.

Resting his left wrist on the top edge of the steering wheel, he guided the vehicle through the streets of Manhattan as he planned his next move.

Under the back bumper, the one tracker he'd missed began transmitting his location to a receiver at the right hand of a man sitting in a room filled with electronic equipment, a bank of computer monitors lining the wall in front of him.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta on this.

RL has been a pain in the...backside for the last few weeks so this is coming out later than it should have.

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Five**

Beckett watched out the window as Trask took off his jacket, threw it in the car and drove off. She was already on the phone. "Kirchanski, stay on the black sedan just pulling out. I wanna know where he goes and who he talks to."

Castle wasn't at all surprised to hear the order. Trust, but verify should be her motto. _Look how long it took her to trust __me__._

Detective Christopher Kirchanski was legend in the department. As long as he'd been with homicide, Kirchanski had never been made while tailing a suspect. Trask didn't stand a chance.

Castle put out a hand to steady Martha as she carefully picked her way to his side. Wrapping her in his arms, he gave and accepted comfort. Into his shoulder, Martha muttered, "I'm sure we'll find Alexis soon, Richard."

Putting her away from him but keeping hold of her hand, he nodded. "She wasn't kidnapped. The security videos clearly show that _your_ granddaughter was a willing participant. Once they were in the lobby, Alexis led the way. Made sure they avoided the security cameras in the garage and the alley. The guy she was with wouldn't have known the location of every camera, but Alexis did."

Beckett hugged Martha too. "We're having Trask followed and Chang is running a comprehensive facial recognition program. We'll find her and have the identity of her friend in a few hours. They won't even get out of the city."

Castle could feel his mother's relief across the gulf between them. She removed her earrings and slipped out of her heels. "Thank God."

"Mother, do you think Alexis and this guy…" Castle didn't want to say what he was thinking out loud, but he had to know if the man his daughter was on the run with was someone she was sleeping with.

"No." Beckett seemed very sure. "Alexis slept in her room and this guy, whoever he is, slept in our room."

The relief Castle felt at that moment rivaled that of finding her safe after the alien attack over Manhattan. "Thank God. Oh, uh, I mean…"

"I know what you mean, Castle. Me too." The head of the CSU team motioned Beckett to him and she stepped away with tight smile. Within a few minutes, they were alone amidst the mess. Beckett came to Castle's side.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. "I'll have a car take you to the Hamptons for a couple of weeks, Mother. Kate and I'll stay at the Ritz Carlton so we can be closer to the station."

A smile lit up Martha's face. "Then it's a good thing I'm still packed. I'll freshen up then we can go."

That she was _here_ and not still on tour with the play suddenly struck Castle. "Why _are_ you here, Mother? _Please_ don't tell me you were fired for sleeping with the director again."

Her eyes wide, Beckett asked, "Martha?"

"Oh, don't listen to him, Kate. I didn't sleep with the director." Rolling her eyes, Martha placed her hands on her hips. "I was fired because I refused to compromise my artistic integrity."

Tossing that last line over her shoulder, Martha went into the bathroom and closed the door leaving Castle and Beckett watching her with identical rueful expressions. A few beats later Beckett said, "It was one of the investors and his wife found out."

"Exactly." Castle and Beckett didn't need to pack either as their cases had been left with the doorman. He took his phone out, scrolled his contact list and tapped the screen. "Amalia! Richard Castle…I'm doing well. Yourself and the family? Of course…Amalia, my dear, I'm afraid there's been an incident at the loft. We're going to need your expertise to whip it into shape. Carlos will give you all the details when you get here…No, it _wasn't_ another party. A double murder, if you can believe that…I've actually been out of town…Getting engaged…I think you're right. The third time _is_ the charm…We'll be at the Ritz so take your time…I'll let you know when it's been released by the CSU and the insurance company's concluded their investigation. There'll be a bonus for you and your team, my dear. Ciao, Bella."

Castle hung up then dialed again. "Dave? Richard Castle…Front door…Break in…double murder…New alarms…Top of the line…No, not yet…Great." Castle made one more call and grinning smugly, he followed Beckett to the door taking charge of Martha's rolling case. "The insurance company will be here as soon as CSU releases it. And I've arranged for clean-up and repair."

"We should stay in town. This case is ours. The boys are already hard at work checking alibis and running down leads."

As they reached the elevator, a pair of uniformed officers nodded at Beckett and kept going. They were tasked with guarding the loft until CSU had completed their investigation. Thumbs tucked into their belts, the two men looked quite imposing instilling Castle with confidence that all would be well taken care of in his absence. Now if he could only stop worrying about Alexis. No matter what he said or how he presented himself to the world, Alexis would always be his first priority. Her voice in the messages didn't sound strained, as if she were being forced to make the call, so until proven otherwise, he would assume she was operating without coercion. Hopefully she would find a way to contact him again soon.

~~O~~

Phil resisted rolling his eyes when Alexis called him Dad for the fifth time in less than an hour, and always with a tone that said she was humoring him or annoyed with him. He couldn't tell because she was careful about keeping her face and eyes averted so he couldn't read her.

With an internal smile, he now fully believed that he had once been Phil Coulson and that they two of them had been friends. He had faith in her genuineness and sincerity when she spoke of their bond, and whole-heartedly wished he could remember even a moment of that time.

Letting Alexis lead the way down the passageway to their cabin, Phil kept all senses alert for anything that seemed to be out of place. Sights, sounds, smells. Every venue had its own atmosphere, its own ambiance or character. And when something entered that was at odds with that character, it stuck out. Or at least to Enigma. And Phil.

And the fact that he'd been beset by assets in an attempt to bring him in from the cold gave him the answer to the earlier question of the possibility of there being more in the world like him.

Inside the cabin, Alexis, now going by the name of JJ Drinkwater to his Bill Drinkwater, set her bag on the small cabinet across from the tiny bathroom. Phil cracked the door noting that there was room to attend to the basics of nature, but no shower. The seats folded into a bed as did what looked like an overhead storage compartment. Choosing to let Alexis make the choice as to their sleeping arrangements, he closed the bathroom door, setting his bag next to hers, an apologetic smile touching his lips. "All the comforts of home."

"If you're in prison." She paused while he snorted and shook his head then continued, "I'll take the top bunk. It'll be like camping out only without bugs, trees or bears. You don't snore, do you?"

"Not that anyone's ever said," he replied as diplomatically as possible. It was the truth. As far as he could remember, no one had ever mentioned snoring. Not that there had been many instances of him sharing a sleeping space with another person except as a means to an end. A day or so afterward, he would be gone, the time for the morning after talk never having come up. It would've served no purpose to have that talk as by the time he'd gained a woman's trust to the point that she slept with him, it signaled that the end of the mission was near. He'd get the information, codes, files, names, whatever, and be on his way with barely time to breathe much less rest before the next mission.

How did the other assets handle down time? That question had plagued him since he made the decision to trust in their existence and that he would be meeting one or more before this situation was resolved. He didn't spend an inordinate amount of time on what their names might be. He was Enigma, so it stood to reason that their names would be of a similar ilk, but he doubted that such pleasantries as introductions would take place before they tried to kill him. And try was the word, because he would tolerate no other outcome. Not because he cared if _he_ lived or died. But Alexis was his responsibility. The girl was innocent of anything except being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being friends the wrong person. He had to keep her alive, and would with every breath in his body.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving." The young woman started to touch her hair and forced herself to stop. Phil took the less than subtle hint and opened the beds while she took pillows from the cabinet.

"I am too." Alexis handed Phil a pillow, tossed hers onto the upper bunk then took the wallet with her fake ID from the side pocket of her backpack. He watched her move about the small room, fascinated by the poise with which she walked. She had a natural charm that would carry her far in whatever she did with her life whether she became a doctor or followed some other path. "Arrival time is around seven in the morning. Let's go get dinner."

"Is that a good idea?"

"We have to eat, and we're in disguise." Rolling his eyes upward, he indicated his head covered with a shoulder length dark blonde wig. That and the rumpled clothing they both wore lent credence to their story of a father and daughter traveling cross-country on a train trip before she goes off to college in the fall. Waving a hand, he said, "After you," then followed her out.

They ate in near silence, preferring to keep to their own thoughts, and Phil didn't blame her. He was used to a life in constant flux, but Alexis liked everything neatly categorized, school, home, work, friends, even if the lines sometimes became blurred. That thought brought his thoughts to a slow stop. Were his memories of the before time coming back? The doctors had told him they wouldn't because of injuries he'd sustained.

Absently, Phil rubbed the small scar over his heart, the area beginning to ache as fatigue nibbled at the edges of consciousness. He would've preferred to keep watch while Alexis slept, but he could hardly go without sleep for however long this took. From the side pocket of his bag he took several small devices, attaching them to the window and door. The alarms would awaken them both if someone attempted to enter.

Alexis' sleepy voice floated down from above telling him that he'd lost focus for a few moments. He hadn't heard her climb into the upper bunk and get comfortable. The blue chems helped him keep his mind sharp. It was way past time to take them and he was feeling it. Morning would be soon enough to take all three.

Rolling into his bunk, Phil looked up at the underside of the bunk above, not for the first time kicking himself for letting Alexis be pulled into his world. He breathed deeply several times and was about to fall asleep when Alexis leaned over the side. "Stop feeling guilty."

"Why shouldn't I? You wouldn't be here if it weren't for…" Opening his eyes he saw passing street lights flickering over her face. In shadow for three seconds, illuminated for three, over and over again.

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends. I've never been a 'silent' friend. I would've helped anyone in the same situation."

It was obviously a quote, and he knew she was sincere. Had sensed her kindness and caring nature from the moment he first saw her in the coffee shop little more than forty-eight hours ago…this time. But no matter how hard he tried, their previous friendship wouldn't show itself to him. "I know."

~~O~~

With her cheek resting on her hands folded over the edge of the bunk, Alexis continued to watch Phil, his face just a smudge of light in the darkness so that she couldn't see his eyes. Not that she'd be able to tell what he was thinking, but she could try.

When she started at the university three years ago, her path had been clear. Medical school with an eye toward becoming a forensic pathologist and a minor in psychology which would later become a second doctorate. But the last two days had changed her way of thinking. She still wanted to be a doctor, but now she was considering a second minor in a related field. "Then take off that coat of scars. It's not you."

Phil's eyebrows drew together in that familiar way he looked at her when he thought she was crazy. Strangely enough, it resembled the one she got from her father and for the same reasons. Not long after they first met, she had a crush on Phil. He treated her like everything she said had merit, that every word she uttered were important whether a complaint about the weather or the night she told him about her break-up with Ashley. Phil had pointed out that her sadness wasn't because she missed Ashley. They'd already gotten past the three month mark of being separated when they split, so that was a given.

One part had been because Alexis had hoped that he would be her one true love, and when that turned out not to be the case, it made everything she felt for Ashley seem…absurd. And that's where her sadness originated. The embarrassment.

Then she got angry with Ashley for not fighting harder. To Alexis, the fact that he hadn't once tried to contact her meant he hadn't had as much invested in their relationship as she. By the time the coffee shop closed and she and Phil had parted company, she felt much better. Had even laughed at one of Phil's lame attempts at being funny.

The train passed into a tunnel plunging them into darkness except for the light strip along the floor, a small wedge of weak light reaching under the door and the occasional burst of brightness from the tunnel.

Phil raised one arm up over his head, the hand tucked under the pillow. "'I have walked a stair of swords; I have worn a coat of scars. I have vowed with hollow words; I have lied my way to the stars.' It's from _Songs of Sapphique_ by Catherine Fisher."

He yawned on the last word, giving her a sheepish grin. With a grin her own, she pointed a finger at him. "Time for bed. No more talking…Dad."

"Whatever you say…daughter."

~~O~~

Slamming his hand against the steering wheel, Chris Kirchanski uttered an obscenity that would've peeled paint. In all the years he'd been with the NYPD he had never been shaken by the person he was tailing, and had no idea how the Fed had lost him. Kirchanski knew he was the best, but apparently Trask was better. He'd followed Trask to the dry cleaners, Java Hut, Authentic Nick's Pizzeria, the one on twenty-eighth, and the gas station. After that, Trask headed for the local office for Homeland Security and that's where he lost the guy. Trask's car wasn't in the lot or parked on the street and the GPS tracker had gone dead within seconds of being out of Kirchanski's sight proving that the man had known he was there the entire time.

Now Kirchanski dreaded telling Beckett about his first failure. Pushing a hand through his medium brown hair, the detective dug his cell phone from his back pocket, scrolled his contact list and dialed.

"_Beckett._"

"Kirchanski here. I lost him."

~~O~~

Each monitor glowed with a different view. People moving through a square, eating lunch, drinking coffee. Another showed a facial recognition program running while still another displayed the frozen image of an online game paused in mid-level. The one that kept the man's attention was the map of New York City, a green dot moving up one street and down another, stopping for a short time then continuing on. It made a last turn, stopped and stayed in that spot for the next fifteen minutes.

He went back to the screen in front of him, tapping away at the keyboard with an occasional glance up to make sure the green dot stayed put. A knock on the door sent him out of the room briefly while he paid for his food delivery and grabbed an energy drink from the kitchen. His absence prevented him from seeing the small blip on the screen so when he returned, everything looked normal.

Four hours later, the green dot was on the move again.

~~O~~

Coming awake with a start, Alexis panicked just for a moment, until she remembered where she was. The bounce-sway action of the train combined with the clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks had lulled her into a deep and dreamless sleep. Peeking over the side, she shook her head. Phil had placed his back against the wall and wrapped both arms around the pillow as if using it as a shield.

Yawning, she stretched as far as possible in the cramped upper bunk. A twinge in her abdomen revealed a physical imperative imploring her to see to it. Swinging her legs over the side, she lightly jumped to the floor and padded into the bathroom, waiting until the door had closed to turn on the dim light under the counter.

After attending to business, she washed her hands then used water in an attempt to tame her shorter locks into some semblance of order. That done, she rinsed her mouth with the complimentary mouthwash, dried her hands and flicked out the light again, waiting until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness once more before opened the door.

Still tired, Alexis contemplated climbing back into bed until Phil woke up. She had one foot on the edge of the bed when she felt the lower bunk shift as he repositioned himself. No, that wasn't it.

Bending at the waist, she peered at Phil noting that his eyes were squeezed shut and he was perspiring. Mumbling in his sleep, his legs began to twitch, harsh sounds coming from his throat.

"Phil?" Tentatively, she reached out a hand, drawing back when he suddenly sat up, gasping and clutching at his chest. Again she extended her hand, touching him on the shoulder. He came awake so suddenly that she hadn't a chance to defend herself. Phil got her into a wrist lock, pulling her off balance and onto her stomach. As she fell forward, from the corner of her eye, she saw Phil's right hand fisted to deliver a blow. "Aaahh!"

Her startled yelp of surprise and pain had apparently done the trick. When the pressure disappeared, Alexis rolled onto her back, using her feet and elbows to get as far from Phil as she could, coming to an abrupt stop when she hit the wall. Adrenaline sped up her heart rate and breathing, preparing her fight or flight instincts to take over. Fleeing wasn't an option so she chose fight.

Drawing her knees up in case he attacked again, she waited, but all Phil did was lean against the opposite end of the bunk, one hand over his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "Oh, crap, Lexi! I-I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Sagging in relief, Alexis got to her feet and waited while Phil did the same. "No, but you sure scared the _crap_ out of me. What the hell _was_ that?"

Using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, looking up sharply when she took his watch then held his wrist to count the beats. Fast, but not as fast as she would've expected considering their situation.

"I've been having a recurring dream where I'm running through an immense ship in the clouds while we're being attacked." He rubbed his chest in the place where she'd seen the scar, hissing in remembered pain. "I'm about to shoot a guy with long hair when I'm stabbed through the heart from behind with the point of a sword."

~~O~~

The bunk shifted as Alexis sat next to him, taking his hand. She slipped an arm around his shoulders, and he let himself accept that small measure of comfort from the touch of another. Something that he hadn't had or hadn't been allowed since awakening in the isolation room.

And while her touch was immensely comforting, voices still echoed inside his head. One was his own. The other belonged to an angry man with an eye patch.

"_I'm sorry, boss. The god rabbited." Phil heard the weakness of imminent death in his own voice. Felt the warm stickiness of blood flowing down the front of his body to pool under him soaking his pants and the deck of the ship._

"_Just stay awake. Eyes on __me__." _

_Phil shook his head, barely able to form words. "No. I'm clocked out here."_

"_Not__ an option." _

_The other man gripped his shoulders, but he couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything at all except a sense of…peace. "It's okay, boss. This was never going to work…if they didn't have something…to…"_

And that's where it ended. Where it _always_ ended, in a void. Nothing followed. There was no…after. Until the hospital.

Using meditation techniques, Phil brought his vitals and emotions under control vowing to keep a firm hand on them going forward. He gave her hand one last squeeze, but when he tried to pull away, Alexis refused to let go. She rested her head on his shoulder, a soft sniff telling him she was crying. For _him?_

"Oh, Phil, what did they do to you?"

Gently nudging her away, Phil went into the bathroom and returned with the box of tissues. Alexis accepted it and yanked out two, using them to wipe her eyes then blow her nose. Taking a clean shirt from the backpack, he stepped into the bathroom to give her time to get herself together. He knew she'd bring it up again, and hoped he had the answers they were both looking for when that time came.

~~O~~

Sitting in the end booth so Phil would have full view of the dining car, Alexis watched with fascination as her friend devoured two eggs over easy, hash browns, toast, a short stack of pancakes, sausage, bacon and ham. She slowly ate her egg white veggie omelet, two strips of turkey bacon and an English muffin. They both had coffee and juice, and that it was all good. But…

"Where d'you put it all?"

Phil looked down at his empty plate as if seeing it for the first time. "I have a really high metabolism."

"I _know_." Glancing up at the clock, she wadded her napkin into a ball and dropped it in her plate which still held a piece of crust from the muffin. "So what's first when we hit town?"

"We'll take public transit to…"

Phil abruptly stopped talking, his eyes aimed over her shoulder just as a noisy group came into the car laughing and talking as they sorted out who would sit where. Alexis turned in her seat, scooting against the outside wall, a pleasant smile on her face as she quickly took in the newcomers then yawned as if bored by it all.

Sitting at the counter not ten feet away, a man with hunched shoulders perused the menu, nodding when the server offered coffee. Years of medical school and cutting up bodies in the morgue gave the young woman a unique perspective. From this vantage point, and with just a few seconds, she calculated all his vita statistics. Rumpled brown hair under a baseball cap, faded denim jacket and jeans, beat up sneakers and a cheap watch. He turned to the side showing a cheek and chin darkened by the normal twenty-four hours of growth as if he hadn't bothered to shave. For the most part, he kept his eyes either out the window or on the folded sports page beside his right hand. In fact, everything about him was average, even his height, five-nine at most and on the slender side, maybe one-forty.

Taking a mirror from her pocket, she examined her face and applied lip balm as she caught Phil's eye. He gave her a barely perceptible head shake then looked down at his hands. On the table top, he began to write using the tip of his finger. D-i-s-t-r-a-c… She didn't let him finish, letting him know she understood by taking his hand and flashing him a smile. "We should take Mom some tea. It'll help settle her stomach."

"Of course." Timing it just right, Phil waved his arm and stood up to get the server's attention, in the process tripping the first of two servers entering through the door to his left. That man tripped, his feet tangling with those of the second man. Both had fully loaded trays, one of which fell onto a table spilling everything onto the heads and laps of the family of four seated there. The husband jumped up and got into the server's face screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. Soon, the entire room had erupted into chaos, and while the other patrons blocked the way, Phil and Alexis left with all due haste.

~~O~~

Holding tightly to Alexis' hand, Phil hurried along the narrow corridor trying doors as he went. He finally located an unlocked cabin, pushed Alexis inside and shut it on her indignant, "Phil! Don't you _dare_…"

Just before the door closed, he slapped what looked like a strip of double sided tape over the lock. A hiss and small whiff of smoke went into the air and was quickly dissipated by the environmental systems. "Stay here until I come for you."

The doorknob rattled and his mouth turned up in a small smile at her parting shot, "Like I have a _choice_."

She was highly intelligent, knowing enough to stay put and not draw attention to herself until he returned. The doors between the cars opened and shut, Phil lingering in the hall just long enough to let their pursuer see where he went.

When the other man kicked in the door, Phil was frantically shoving clothing into a backpack making it appear as if he was panicked. Standing in the doorway, the apathetic glint was gone from the other asset's face, replaced by more than a hint of the danger Phil expected.

Dropping the backpack, Phil flexed his hands, his body and mind preparing for the fight that was to come. And he wasn't disappointed. "Enigma. We meet at last. I am Omen. Sent by Conundrum to eliminate the threat you present to the world."

"My threat is not to the world, but to Conundrum's freedom. If I were to tell what I know of Project Phoenix, he would be tried and convicted of crimes against humanity."

The asset scoffed. "We serve a higher purpose."

Relaxing his stance just a little to instill false confidence in Omen, Phil let a sad smile come to his lips. "And _I_ believe _you_ believe what we're doing is right and just, but that belief doesn't make it true. The worst aspect in all of this is the innocent lives that have already been taken in the guise of 'doing good'."

Omen's eyes and tone changed, became harder, the blue turning to flint. "In the end, aren't we all guilty of something?"

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Many thanks to ladygris for the Beta even though she's beset by RL issues.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Six**

Sitting amidst the trappings of one who had lived alone for most of his life, the man known to the NYPD as Dominic Trask booted up the computer. From memory, he typed in the commands given to him by his cyber-guru that allowed him to essentially hijack the facial recognition videos from the NYPD and send Beckett and her team false information.

Turning to face the plasma screen on the wall of his home office, Trask watched the split screens, the faces of people flashing by so fast they were a blur. Occasionally, a photo would freeze in place then, the search would continue. He stood watching the spectacle without moving for over an hour when the information flowing across the screen stopped. A green and black banner lit up at the bottom.

_Ninety-seven percent match._

The breath in Trask's lungs felt thick and oily as he touched the photo at the top right and bottom left corners dragging them in opposite directions to enlarge it. On the right side of the screen inside the box where the person's personal information, name, DOB, address, occupation and so forth would be displayed the words he didn't want to see blinked to get his attention. "Coulson, Phillip J. SHIELD Senior Special Agent. Deceased."

Returning to the computer, he tapped out a few more commands and returned to watch the drama unfold. Within just a few minutes, the images of driver's licenses, passports, birth certificates, résumés and all the documents that one acquired over a lifetime filled the screen until he put a stop to it. Using his forefingers, he dragged everything but the licenses to one side out of the way then sorted them like a tic-tac-toe board. The image on each was the same with minor differences. Hair color, eye color, smiling, not smiling, wearing a variety of clothing. In one, the man even wore an earring, and part of a tattoo could be seen just above the collar of his white T-shirt and leather vest.

Nathaniel Kincaid, Nelson Rinehart, Ross Kellick, Sean Dawley, Lonnie "Iron Horse" Clayton, Andrew Lattimer, Jeffrey Mauer.

The names were unfamiliar except for the last one. Jeffrey Mauer had infiltrated the North American faction of an international coalition. Made up of some of the world's most influential men and women, they used their wealth and power as weapons or tools when the situation required more finesse. They called themselves The Partnership and their goal was to affect world trade policies as well as the political aspirations of candidates who were sympathetic to their causes in a variety of different countries.

And this Mauer had taken them down in royal fashion. That was six months ago and The Partnership still hadn't recovered from the blow. Trask supposed that it was too much to hope for that they'd given up their quest for global domination, but in his experience, the type of people for whom that was a goal seldom learned from their mistakes. They'd be on SHIELD's radar again before the year was out. _Time to start another pool._

But that didn't solve the mystery surrounding Mauer and the other aliases that he'd located for someone who he knew to be dead and at whose funeral he'd spoken.

Minimizing the screens, Trask opened a folder labeled Pants on Fire, dragged a video file out to the center and tapped start. He'd watched the video over and over again, his main thought being that he'd been lied to for the last two years by someone he trusted and respected. _Had_ trusted and respected. Past tense. They'd _all_ been lied to, not just him. Natasha, Hill, the Avengers, Abigail Cartier…the world. And the perpetrator of these lies was none other than SHIELD's director, Nick Fury.

Shutting off the computer, Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye AKA Dominic Trask AKA the list went on…decided that it was time to beard the lion in his den, so to speak.

Twenty minutes later, the archer rolled up to the hangar farthest from the terminal at a secure airfield, shutting down the motorcycle's engine with a flick of his wrist. He tossed the keys to a man in overalls, striding quickly toward the helijet on the tarmac. "Ready for take-off?"

The man nodded. "May I ask where you're headed?"

"To have a few choice words with our esteemed director." He said it in a flat, emotionless tone as the door closed in the mechanic's face. Clint stuck the headset on, powered up the engines and took off without awaiting permission, banking into the morning sun.

When he was gone, the mechanic dialed a number. "Barton's on his way to the ship…Of course…consider it done."

The man pushed a hand through is black hair, using that same hand to unzip the front of the jumpsuit. Shrugging out of it, he pulled it off over his shoes and tossed it in a corner. Underneath, he wore jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. Locking the door, he climbed onto the motorcycle Clint had ridden up on and drove away.

~~O~~

After closing the door behind the room service waiter, Castle poured coffee for himself and Beckett, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom before taking a seat. "You're going to be pissed at me, but I forgot about my gun."

She scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs. "You didn't _check_ it? Castle!"

"Excuse _me_ if I was more worried about my daughter being on the run with a man old enough to be, well, her father than if my personal protection plan had been stolen."

With a huff, Beckett dialed her phone. "Hey, Espo. What's the word on the weapons from the scene?" Nodding as if the other detective could see it, she listened to him rattle off the makes and models found in the loft. "The Beretta was Castle's. Got it. What about facial rec? Still nothing on the guy? What about Alexis? Okay…Yeah, we'll be there in thirty."

Beckett ended the call, the lack of forward momentum in the case more than a little annoying. He pushed his unfinished meal away and downed the rest of the coffee. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead and when Beckett's gentle touch smoothed it back into place, he looked up at her and smiled fondly though his mind was still on Alexis. "Why can't we find out anything about our John Doe or where he's taken Alexis?"

"Wish I knew. He could be in the WitSec program, but he'd still show in our database."

"Not if he'd never been arrested or applied for a government job." A thought struck Castle. "Or…he could be working for an agency so secret that its very existence is known only to a few, and they aren't talking."

Rolling her eyes, Beckett scooped her service weapon and badge from the bedside table drawer. "This isn't Mission Impossible, Castle. There's a plausible explanation for us not making any headway in the case after nearly twenty-four hours. We just have to find it."

After wiping his mouth, Castle tossed the napkin on the table, grabbed his sport coat and left the room just behind his fiancée. "I seem to remember you saying something similar when we went up against the CIA a few years back, and look what happened."

"Yeah. Your ex-girlfriend turned out to be KGB."

"I was sorta hoping you wouldn't bring that up again."

The elevator door dinged, they stepped inside and Beckett hit the button for the lobby, a smirk crossing her lips. "Fat chance, Castle."

Snorting, Castle kept to himself that he agreed with the guy who said women were like computers because even your smallest mistakes are stored in long-term memory for later retrieval. And Beckett had a very good memory. Hopefully, the good times they shared together outweighed all the bad times. When she touched his hand and awarded him with a smile, he knew that everything would turn out fine. _He_ believed because _she_ believed. But it didn't stop him from worrying.

~~O~~

The sun began to brighten the room, peeking around the edges of the window shade still pulled down. With his enhanced eyesight, Phil didn't need the help and neither would Omen. His belief that all people should be held accountable for whatever their infraction, no matter how minor, dismayed and offended Phil on so many levels. Putting it all out of his mind for now, Phil kept his gaze on Omen. They were a match in height, weight and training. That much was for certain. But Phil had compassion on his side. He had none for the man standing in front of him though he did for the person he'd once been. "Do you even care that what we do, what we've been doing, is wrong?"

Omen spread his hands to the side, adding a half-smile. "Does it matter? We perform to the best of our abilities. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. You, me, others like us. We're the cream of the crop. And everyone knows that cream rises to the top."

Snorting, Phil twitched one shoulder. "So do turds, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be compared to s***."

"We're a new species, Enigma. Destined to rule the world."

"That's _crap_ and you know it." Tilting his head side to side, his neck cracking, Phil readied for the attack he knew was coming. "So…we gonna do this, or are you just gonna talk me to death?"

Omen's ordinary features were transformed by a malicious grin. Lifting his chin slightly, he said, "In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, as long and sharp as yours."

Then he attacked.

~~O~~

Angry at first that she'd been locked in this room, Alexis paced until she wanted to scream and pound on the walls in frustration. A few deep breaths dispelled the urge, calmed her anger, bringing a clarity that she seldom had. Hers was an uncommon heritage. Her father, while childish and immature at times, had a sharp mind, an ability to see things from a unique perspective. He was creative and prolific in his chosen field. In her career as an actor, Grams had taken on numerous roles and brought them to life. Her grandfather, the man she knew as Jackson Hunt, had a skill set that included intelligence gathering, infiltration, counterintelligence, interrogation, weapons, explosives. The list went on. In her studies of genetics, there was a better than average chance that she'd inherited some of those talents herself. And that gave her an idea.

~~O~~

Phil had seen to it that Alexis wouldn't be able to leave by the door, but that wasn't the only way out. He just hoped she'd stay put until this was over.

All other thoughts were pushed to the side as the two men engaged hand-to-hand within the confined space of the cabin. The cleaning staff had been in, the bunks now folded into the wall leaving just a padded bench, the small cabinet where the backpacks were stored and an open space in the middle. There was also a table, but it had been folded out of the way as well.

A flurry of blows ensued, ending with Phil being thrown against the door, the knob hitting him on the side. He ignored the pain as he launched himself at Omen, idly noting that he hadn't even asked the man's real name. He would only have given an alias, the name he was currently going by.

The fact that he hadn't taken his chems in nearly two days came home to him when Omen swung, connecting solidly with Phil's eye. Blood spurted, and the anger that had built up in him over the last few days came out in the punch to the stomach followed by a right cross and an upper cut. Omen stumbled backward, but stayed on his feet. Stepping forward with the left foot, Phil brought his right knee up, turned his hip over and lashed out, catching Omen in the face and breaking his nose. There wasn't room for him to follow it up with a second kick.

Behind him, the door swung open to bang against the wall. Phil chanced a glance over his shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise because Alexis was there, in a perfect Weaver stance, her strong side slightly back, presenting a smaller target. The Beretta in her left hand supported the right and was aimed at Phil. With hardly a pause, she corrected her aim, pointing her weapon at the middle of Omen's chest. "Freeze, dirtbag!"

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Phil would've laughed at the sight of Alexis playing cop. Her intrusion, meant to help, provided just the distraction Phil needed to finally end the stalemate between Omen and himself. His right fist jammed into Omen's solar plexus doubling him over long enough for Phil to grab hold of either side of his head and twist. A sickening crunch followed and the asset fell to the floor, dying instantly from a severed spinal cord. Then, Phil faced Alexis again. "Freeze _dirtbag?!_"

Alexis gave him a sheepish grin and shrug as she lowered the weapon to her side then shoved the Beretta into the back of her pants. "It worked, didn't it?"

Air rasping in and out of his lungs, Phil sank down onto the bench, Alexis rushing to his side, stepping gingerly over the dead asset. Slanting a look at her, he asked, "Where'd you get it? The gun?"

"Found it." At his pointed looked, she continued, "It belonged to, uh…"

"One of the men I killed." Every breath pushed against his sore side and his jaw ached from repeated hits. Putting a hand to his face, he could already feel his left eye swelling. It would be black and blue before long.

"Yeah. By the way, you look terrible." Alexis gently probed his ribs then examined his split lip and the cut near his temple.

Flexing his fingers brought the young woman's attention to the scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. She rushed into the bathroom, coming back with a towel, washcloths and the box of tissues. "I feel worse than I look. And I need to take my chems."

Shaking her head, Alexis tended to his injuries as best she could. "I'll get you some water."

She came back with a paper cup from the bathroom. The lukewarm water tasted horrible, but he didn't care. He thanked her with a smile and very shortly, the aches began to recede, and with them, the fuzziness that had been nipping at the boundaries of his cognizance. What he didn't see was that the last of the purple tablets had fallen to the carpet and rolled out of sight.

"What now?" Again, Alexis glanced at the body on the floor, but this time she didn't look away. Now she seemed more curious than anything. Quite a change from when they'd made their escape from the loft. He imagined it was different being there when someone died or was killed instead of bing the one to determine the cause of death.

"We stash the body where it won't be found for a while and disembark in Detroit as if it were just another boring train ride."

Her blue eyes changed from inquisitive to purposeful. "I'm assuming you have a plan."

"I do." Crouching next to Omen, Phil searched his pockets, passing her a cell phone. He then pulled Omen up and over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Open the top bunk."

Alexis did as he asked then stepped out of the way. Phil tossed Omen ungraciously onto the bunk, and together, he and Alexis closed the body inside. They gathered their belongings just as the PA announced their imminent arrival at the Detroit train station. Going to the supply closet at the end of the car, Phil jimmied the lock, reached inside to grab something and retreated back to the cabin. He slapped an "out of order" sign on the door, returning to take the phone from her then held her hand to lead the way back to the dining car. There, he apologized for running out on their breakfast tab and gave the servers he'd tripped each a generous tip.

Ten minutes later, he and Alexis hit the train platform, hopped on a city bus and rode into town.

~~O~~

Stripping off her soiled gloves, Lanie went to the sink while Chavez slid the first John Doe into a drawer and closed the door. While he brought out contestant number two, she dried her hands and signed the autopsy report.

As she passed the mass spec, she thought about the substance that Alexis asked her to analyze and wondered if the two incidents were connected. It would be too much of a coincidence if they weren't, and like Beckett, Castle, Esposito and Ryan, she didn't believe in coincidences. There was a link. She just didn't know what it was.

The syringe still sat in her desk drawer inside a sealed evidence bag. Alexis hadn't asked for it back and Lanie hadn't offered. Taking out the bag, she handed it to Chavez. "Have this checked for prints right away."

At Chavez's laconic, "Yes, ma'am," Lanie rolled her eyes, scrubbed again, pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up a scalpel. By the time Chavez returned, she had already cracked through the rib cage of John Doe #437752-B. Without a word, the intern scrubbed and joined her.

~~O~~

They'd changed buses so many times, Alexis lost count. Even got on the people mover and the M-1 Rail Line. Eventually, she convinced Phil to stop for coffee. Huddled in a corner away from the rest of the patrons, she endured her friend's silent admonishment for taking the Beretta. While her dad had a permit to carry, she did not. At least not yet. Not that she didn't know how to use a handgun. She just hadn't had a chance to take the quals due to her busy schedule. And that reminded her she owed Lanie an explanation. Not just Lanie. Dad, Grams and Kate too. But to clue them in, she had to get the 4-1-1 from Phil, but he still wasn't talking. In fact, he'd been even more pensive than he had when she first found him at the coffee shop. Taking his hand, she waited for him to look at her and smiled. "Tell me about the dream again. I'm sure it's a clue to what happened to you."

He didn't pull away, but he didn't return her squeeze. "Dream?"

"From this morning. The guy who literally stabbed you in the back."

"Later." He slid his hand from under hers using it to lift the cup for another sip while his left thumb rubbed over the keys of the cell he'd taken from the man called Omen.

Letting her subconscious work on it, Alexis let the matter drop. "You just gonna play with that?"

"It's the next step in my plan."

"_Our_ plan," she corrected.

His blue eyes met hers with regret. "No. _My_ plan. Starting now, you're out of the loop on this. I have a local contact who'll make sure you get safely back to New York."

Several people turned and stared at her shouted, "What?!"

"What's happening next is much too dangerous for you to be involved, JJ." Setting the phone down, he clasped both hands together on the table in front of him.

The use of her assumed name told Alexis that Phil was serious about cutting her loose. _He is so __stubborn!__ Just like Dad. Maybe that's why I like him so much. He is __so__ not getting off that easy. I learned stubborn from the pros! _

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Sitting up straight and radiating the aforementioned stubbornness, Alexis set her mind to see this through to the end. They were friends, and she would do no less for anyone else.

Lowering his voice, Phil leaned forward slightly, "Lexi, this has to be over for you. I need to focus on what's to come and I can't if you're around."

"Too damn bad." Before he could stop her, she scooped up the cell phone and got to her feet so quickly, the chair overturned. She forced tears into her eyes and voice. "How _could_ you, Dad?! I hate you!"

Ducking her head and sobbing, she ran out the side door with Phil in pursuit. He caught up with her on the sidewalk one store down, pulling her to a stop. "Give me the phone."

"Not until you agree to let me stay."

"But…"

Rubbing the sleeve of her jacket over her eyes, she used it to hide what she was saying. "We have an audience. Let's make this good."

~~O~~

Turning his head slightly, Phil saw that they were indeed being watched by the patrons from the coffee shop. Seeing that he wasn't getting out of this with his dignity intact unless he gave in, Phil did just that. Putting a hand out beseechingly, he muttered out the side of his mouth, "Pretend we're still arguing then stalk off in a huff."

Without acknowledging his order, she waved her hands and stated angrily, "Fine! Now what, Dad?"

In the same argumentative tone, he too waved his arms making them look like the father and daughter they were supposed to be, "Give me the phone!"

"What's the number and I'll dial."

"You can't be there when I call!"

Teeth clenched, Alexis' tone held a warning, "If this is a ploy to ditch me…"

Taking his cue from her, he slumped, lowering his voice as if giving in. "It's _not_. I promise."

Sparks flying from her eyes, she slapped the phone into his hand and turned her back, arms crossed. "Circle the block and meet on the other side of Fisher Freeway by the Big Burger. And Phil? I really don't hate you."

"Perfect!" Phil raised his arms and let them slap against his thighs in exasperation as Alexis stomped to the corner and disappeared from sight while he did the same in the opposite direction. _Damn! She's good!_

As Phil passed the coffee shop, some of the customers still watching the spectacle with undisguised interest, gave him sympathetic glances before returning to their tables. Stretching his senses to their limits told him he was as alone as he could be in downtown Detroit. It was now or never because he had to dispose of the phone before he met up with Alexis again.

Flipping the phone open, he dialed a number known only to himself. It was answered on the first ring. "Foxtrot-Juliet-Charlie-six-seven-seven. Secure?"

There was a pause before the voice responded. "_Secure, Enigma._"

"Put Conundrum on."

A series of clicks then another voice sounded in his ear. It had an electric quality that marked it as being run through a voice changer. "_How did you get Omen's phone?_"

Not in the mood for witty banter, Phil told the truth. "Took it off his body after I killed him. If you want me, you'll have to do better."

"_Apparently I've underestimated your abilities, Enigma._" Though the voice sounded male, Phil didn't jump to conclusions. Women were just as capable of performing heinous acts as men.

"You _have_, Conundrum. I understand why you want _me_ taken down. But why the girl? She's done nothing."

A shrug came through in the tone. "_We aren't interested in Alexis Castle except as a means to an end._"

"That end being my death. So if she gets killed…" A soft chuckle that held more than a hint of cruelty and cold-bloodedness stirred anger like none Phil had known before.

"_Collateral damage. And acceptable under the circumstances_."

Holding onto his rage with iron control, Phil stated matter-of-factly, "That's _not_ going to happen."

Again, the voice laughed maliciously. "_We'll see, Enigma_."

Calm again, Phil stated tonelessly, and for the record, "Enigma is dead. My name is Phil Coulson." Flipping the phone shut before Conundrum could respond, Phil took it apart, removed the battery and SIM card as he turned onto the bridge spanning the waterway where he dropped the pieces over the side one at a time.

Alexis had mentioned a dream. He remembered it, every last moment from the time he reached the huge glass cell to the moment his life flickered out. His chest ached, again over the scar the doctors at the hospital had lied about when he asked how it had happened. In fact, they'd lied about _everything_. Who he had once been, how he'd come to be in the hospital, and that he'd volunteered for Project Phoenix.

It was ironic, really. In Greek mythology, the phoenix was a bird that was reborn from the ashes of its predecessor. He, and presumably the other assets as well, were the physical embodiment of that mythos. People who died were resurrected from the metaphoric ashes of their old lives.

Under his shirt, he felt the shape of the box containing his chems. If they lied about the scar, they probably lied about his needing the chems to stay alive. Pulling the chain off over his head, Phil slid the top open and held the box out over the water. He waited exactly three heartbeats, turned it over and let the pills fall. A moment later, the chain made of a yellow metal that was not gold or even gold plated, fell into the water far below with a splash, severing the last connection to the unreal life he'd been leading for the past two years.

~~O~~

When Conundrum hung up the phone, the man standing to the right awaiting orders saw his superior's expression turn brooding. "What is it?"

A hand waved at the phone indicating the call He'd just taken. "Enigma's core personality is reasserting itself."

"Translation?"

A wry smile oozed over the features, a small chuckle coming with it. "He thinks he's Phil Coulson."

"He _is._"

"The scientists said they'd corrected that flaw. Either that, or he's been too long without taking the purples." Elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingertips tapped together in a rhythm conducive to thought. "Our mole has finally come through with information we can use. Send Oracle and Herald to Detroit."

"Detroit?"

"In the background I heard church bells that could only have been St. Ignatius Catholic Church in downtown Detroit. Plus we have confirmation from our mole at SHIELD."

The lackey shifted his feet. "You're sure Oracle and Herald will be enough? He's taken out eight of our people already. Three of them our newest recruits."

After a moment's thought, the figure in the chair nodded, accepting the other's assessment. "Send Fortune as well, and put the other Project Phoenix assets on alert."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **As always, thanks to ladygris for the Beta and her friendship.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Seven**

Sitting in his accustomed place at his fiancée's side, Castle rested his elbow on the desk, finger and thumb pulling at his lower lip in thought. In his lap lay a still taken from the video of Alexis and John Doe fleeing the apartment building. Something about the man's face nagged at the mystery writer. Like he'd seen him before, briefly. His eyebrows drew together in thought, and without thinking, he picked it up, turning it first one way then another, examining it from different angles until one struck a chord.

Dropping the photo on the floor, he stood over it as if looking out the window of his loft at someone standing on the sidewalk in front. He walked around it, making a box with his forefingers and thumbs, moving them closer then farther away. Beckett's footsteps stopped beside him as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

"What's up?"

Castle sighed, a frown of thought creasing his forehead as he continued to stare at the photo. "I've seen him somewhere before. Just can't place it…him."

"You'll figure it out. Right now, we have to go through the file Homeland Security sent over on Trask."

Finally, Castle's attention was captured. "Trask?"

Shaking her head, Beckett chewed on her lower lip before responding. "There was just something about him that sets my radar off."

"But you checked him out and he came back clean."

"I just wanna know more about a man who seems more interested in the videos of our John Doe than the DB's."

Brightening, the writer leaned closer so he could see over her shoulder. "The old Spidey sense again. Ni-ice."

At that moment, Gates stuck her head out. "Beckett. My office."

"Yes, sir."

Beckett was gone leaving Castle flipping through the manila folder, growing more and more puzzled. Trask's file read like a career bureaucrat, a paper pusher from the get-go. Enrolled in New York Central University, dropped out after the Thanksgiving holiday, re-enrolled a year later, graduated within two years with a degree in criminal justice and a minor in psychology. Joined the Boston PD and was put to work in Records. From there he transferred to the New York office of Homeland Security in Budget and Procurement. Nowhere did it say why a budget and procurement officer had an interest in this case.

Beckett came back, setting a cup of coffee in front of him and taking a sip of her own. "What would a guy like Trask be doing sticking his nose in a homicide investigation? According to this, the biggest risks of his job are paper cuts and carpal tunnel syndrome."

Shaking her head, Beckett took the folder and flipped back through the pages Castle had already read. "That's not the vibe I got from Trask. He was carrying, at least three weapons that I could make out, and not protractors, mechanical pencils or a pocket protector."

"Which can be weapons in the right hands."

"And I got the feeling _his_ were the 'right hands'."

Picking up the photo from the floor, Castle stared at it again. "These two are related somehow. I just wish we could figure out the connection."

"What about-"

"Castle!" Ryan bellowed angrily from his desk. "What'd I tell you about touching my computer?"

Looking a little scared, Castle thought for a moment. "That you'd shoot me if I so much as breathed on it?"

"Yeah. So what did you do to it?"

Raising his hands in surrender, Castle looked frantically for escape. "I haven't - I didn't - I wasn't - I mean it wasn't me!"

Beckett stopped Castle's stuttering with a hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Every time I type in a search parameter and hit enter, it takes me to an anime porn site."

Esposito, just taking a drink of his coffee, did a spit-take all over his desk. He ran to the break room for paper towels to clean up the mess, glaring at Castle and Beckett's stifled snickers. "All these years and you never said a _word_, Ryan. Partners are supposed to tell each other everything."

Beckett grinned, very much enjoying her teammate's embarrassment, and sharing a grin with Esposito. "Apparently not. Wonder what Jennie thinks of…that." She waved a hand at the screen now showing a desktop photo of Ryan and Jennie with their newborn who would be two in a few months.

"Ha. Ha. _You_ didn't have to see _tentacles_ all up in women's…business." He actually shuddered as he typed. "See?" Ryan waved a hand at the screen once again displaying animated Japanese erotica.

His interest piqued, Castle came to stand behind Ryan peering over his other shoulder after sharing a glance and a grin with Espo. "Ooh! Animeporn dot com!" He felt the eyes of his friends on him and cleared his throat, nervously looking at Beckett's disapproving glare. "Not that I've ever…Well, _once_…for resear…um, maybe it's a virus or something?"

All business again, Ryan closed the open sessions and began to type what looked to Castle like gibberish. They stood over him watching until he took his hands from the keyboard and huffed loudly. "Guys, this is gonna take a while so…" he waved them away, "…back off. I'll call you when I have something."

Back at Beckett's desk, Castle asked, "How could someone plant a virus in the NYPD's database?"

"You're kidding, right? A five-year old with a Commodore 64 and dial-up could hack into our mainframe while eating Oreos and chugging a glass of milk. What_ I_ wanna know is who did it and why?"

Shrugging, Castle put a grin on, leaning his elbow on the desk and dropping his chin into that hand. "If we can find out when, where and how, that will lead us to who and why."

"True." Glancing down, Beckett's eyes landed on Trask's profile photo. She picked up her coffee cup, finding it empty.

Without looking up, she handed it to Castle and he dutifully went to get her a refill. Returning to his seat, he crossed one leg over the other. "Norton's retirement party's tonight."

"Go without me. I've got too much to do."

Tilting his head to the side in rebuke, Castle set his cup next to hers. "Norton worked directly with the Avengers, saving _hundreds_ of civilians from being crushed to death, and you can't spare a few minutes out of your busy schedule to wish him a happy retirement? You should be _ashamed_ of yourself, Detective Beckett. Besides, we're hosting it at the newly renovated Old Haunt, remember?"

She rolled her eyes in that way she had, telling him he'd won this particular argument. "Fine. But just for an hour. Geez, Castle, where'd you learn to lay on the guilt?"

Castle smiled wistfully. "At the knee of Nanny Epstein. Made the best noodle kugel you've ever tasted. Pity she only lasted two weeks."

"You ever look her up?"

"Yeah. She has her own cooking show on a local cable channel and a restaurant in Chinatown. Oh _and_ she's catering the party." Turning his wrist over, Castle jumped to his feet. "We have to get going to be there in time greet the guest of honor. I just wish Alexis…"

"I know." Taking her jacket from the back of her chair, Castle held it until she relented, slipping her arms in the sleeves and flipping her hair outside the collar. "Espo! Ryan! We're heading over to the Old Haunt. See you there?"

Both men answered in the affirmative as Beckett tucked her hand around Castle's elbow, and he gave her a loving smile. Just as the elevator door closed, Beckett said, "There better be kugel."

~~O~~

Clint brought the helijet to a perfect landing on the deck of SHIELD's mobile headquarters.

"Fuel it up. I'm only gonna be here a few minutes," he ordered when the OOD came to his side. He ducked through the hatch before the man could respond. Striding onto the bridge, he was brought up short when Hill stepped into his path.

"Director Fury's unavailable."

"Then he better _get_ available!" Clint evaded her attempts to stop him from entering Fury's office, scanned his ID at the door and was admitted. Ignoring the shadowed faces projected on the walls, he took up a belligerent post in front of his superior. "We need to talk…_alone_."

Fury's expressionless gaze leveled itself at Clint then at the images of the World Security Council. "Please excuse the interruption, gentlemen and lady. Agent Barton seems to have forgotten how to knock."

The man on the left nodded. "No offense taken, Director. Our business is concluded for today."

On the center screen, a woman clasped her hands together in front of her. "Yes. We'll contact you in three days."

The director of SHIELD kept his bland expression in place until the monitors went dark then turned a glare on the archer. "What the hell's going on, Agent Barton?"

"Funny. I was gonna ask _you_ the same thing."

"Please. Elaborate."

Clint stood ramrod straight in front of Fury's desk, arms crossed and feet shoulder width apart, controlling his anger with effort. "Why the lies, Nick? You stood next to me at his funeral and lied. You knew the truth and _lied_…to _everyone_."

~~O~~

Not wanting to provoke Clint further, Fury kept his body relaxed. "If I knew what you were talking about, this conversation might go a little smoother."

For an answer, Clint's left hand went into his pocket. Drawing out a thumb drive, he tossed it to Fury who caught it with one hand. Fury inserted the drive into the USB port on his computer, using the remote to display the only file on the main monitor.

In the video, he saw a man sipping coffee at a table inside a small shop that could only be the Café Anglais on Rue Jean Goujon in Paris, France. He smiled, extending his hand to another man who had just entered with his back to the camera. Both were similarly dressed in casual slacks, light jackets and deck shoes. The men talked for a while, shook hands again then the second man left carrying the newspaper that the first man had been reading. Obviously a handoff, but of what, Fury couldn't tell.

The image froze and Fury turned a questioning gaze on Clint. "Agent meets contact. It's something we see and do every day. What's so special about this one?"

Saying nothing, Clint took the remote, reversed the recording, forwarded it to a specific spot hit pause and zoomed in on the face of the second man. His hair was different, but there was no mistaking that face. Slack-jawed, Fury could only stare. Then, "Coulson."

Letting his eyes meet Clint's, Fury and the archer stayed like that for the space of a few rapid heartbeats. Relaxing his anger-filled posture, Clint looked back at the monitor. "You didn't know."

"No. I did _not_. The last I saw of Phil Coulson was when the medics loaded his body onto the quinjet for the trip to the mortuary as per his final instructions."

Pacing and gnawing on a thumbnail, Clint said, "Once the medics bagged his body, we never actually saw it-him again. He requested cremation and that's easy enough to fake."

"Coulson bled out in front of me. He had no vital signs. The medics confirmed it." Fury sensed Clint clamping down on his emotions and did the same. "When doesn't matter. The bigger questions are who and why."

"You're thinking clone."

"I am."

The room was eerily quiet for several heartbeats. "SHIELD has a mole."

Fury had just come to the same conclusion. The men faced each other, arms crossed and thoughtful expressions in place until Clint smiled. It wasn't a smile of joy or happiness. No, this one was filled with a generous dose of the archer's innate badness, and it made Fury smile too. "_You_ have a plan."

"_I_ have a plan."

~~O~~

The other agents always moved out of the way when they saw Natasha coming and today was no different except for the speed with which they cleared a path. The door to the bridge barely opened before she shot through, stumbling to a stop when Hill blocked the way. "Out of the way, Maria."

The dark-haired agent shook her head. "Can't do that. The Director and Agent Barton are in conference."

"Conference? What the hell are they…" Natasha broke off when Fury's door opened and Clint, his face a mask of rage, stalked out with the director hot on his six.

"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you, Barton!"

Clint stopped in his tracks, swinging around to confront the other man. "**** you, Fury! After everything I've been through with this agency, Loki, the invasion, Budapest, Lima, Bangladesh, I can't believe you're suspending me for taking time off."

"You know as well as I do that SHIELD cannot allow its agents to be off the grid without good reason."

"So I took a few days of downtime without getting…" he made sarcastic air quotes, "…Mom and Dad's permission. Big ****ing deal. Well, **** you and **** SHIELD!"

Getting himself under control with a supreme effort, Fury faced down the shorter man who didn't give an inch. Never gave an inch. "Agent Barton, you're suspended indefinitely without pay."

An audible gasp went around the bridge, Natasha and Hill not joining in. Hands clenched at her sides, the Russian waited for the uproar to die down, only it didn't. She wanted to intervene, but sensed it wouldn't be a good idea at this point.

"Suspension? Ha! I quit!" Clint spun on his heel to face Hill.

In anticipation of an attack, the agent let her arms hang at her side, surprised when Clint took her by the hand, slapping his badge and service weapon into it. Her fingers clenched on the leather and metal, eyes staring at them in shock. Natasha more than understood what Hill was feeling. Clint had been with SHIELD longer than either woman. In fact, he'd recruited both of them though the circumstances under which Natasha had come to work for the agency were vastly different from Hill's.

Facing Fury again, anger evident in his eyes and tightly clipped voice, Clint bit out, "This gig was getting boring anyway."

Moments later, he was gone leaving dead silence in his wake. Only Natasha and Hill had the nerve to face the director waiting for a response. His good eye looked from one to the other then around the bridge where everyone ducked their heads, suddenly very interested in their monitors. His voice eerily calm after the heated argument they'd all witnessed, Fury said, "Begin processing _Mister_ Barton's paperwork immediately, and make arrangements for his exit interview. But first, have someone transport him to the mainland. I want him off this boat as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir." Hill's voice was taut with the effort of holding in her emotions.

The two women shared a glance, saying more than most could with words. The Russian nodded imperceptibly and left the bridge. When she reached her partner's quarters, she didn't bother to knock, just let herself in. An easy task as he hadn't bothered to shut the door. Inside, she found him shoving clothes and personal possessions-what few he kept on the ship-into a duffle bag. Without turning, he said, "Don't try to talk me out of this, Nat."

She let the silence settle before continuing. "Tell me what's going on."

"I'm tired of putting my life on the line and getting nothing but grief for my efforts."

She moved to his side, stopping him by taking his hand. "You could've come to me."

A snort of frustration pushed out of him as he released her hand and sat on the side of the bed. Natasha sat next to him reminding her of the moments prior to the invasion when she'd managed, by accident, to release Loki's hold on Clint's mind. After his head hit the metal railing, the electric blue that clouded his eyes had dimmed and for a moment he actually seemed to know her. Not wanting to take chances, she'd hit him a second time, knocking him out. When he came to, he was out of the demi-god's control, but he wasn't himself for a long time.

"I spent a year talkin' to the shrinks about my feelings. Tired of talkin'." His shoulders slumped as if he were weary beyond comprehension. "I wanna know what it's like to _not_ be…me. Not Agent Barton. Not the Amazing Hawkeye. Just a regular guy who works nine to five, watches football with his buddies on Saturday and dates a girl named Sunshine who teaches Pilates."

"But that's not _you_, _Yastreb_."

Clint turned his head to look at her. "It could be. I just have to figure out how."

She stood when he did, wrapping him in a hug. He hesitated less than the space of a breath before returning it. When they'd both had enough, she gently pushed out of his arms and handed him his bag. His eyes swept the room once more then he hurried away.

~~O~~

Clint hated putting his best friend and partner through the ringer, but this was a solo op. If she knew what was really going on, he wouldn't be able to stop her from tagging along, and he needed to this on his own.

On deck, he headed for the helijet that had brought him to the helicarrier, but was intercepted by the OOD and a goons squad. Playing it cool, he complied without argument or complaint as they led up the ramp of an idling quinjet. The heavily armed squad obviously expected him to make trouble, and Clint was more than happy to oblige. He just had to pick the time.

Seeming to accept his fate, he tossed the duffle bag on the floor and dropped onto the bench in apparent defeat, hopefully lulling them into a false sense of security. No such luck. All eyes were on him while the pilot requested and received clearance to take off. If he was gonna do this, it had to be now.

Pushing off the bench, he reached for the hatch controls, the guards tracking his movements. "Relax guys. I'm just closin' the back so no one falls out when we take off."

Within seconds, he'd taken out all four men and shoved them out onto the deck where they lay in a moaning heap. The pilot jumped out of his seat, drawing a weapon, but before it cleared the holster, Clint knocked him out too. He laid the young man at the top of the ramp, gave him a shove with his foot and watched as he rolled down to join his cohorts. Making sure no hands, feet or other body parts were in the way Clint raised the ramp and settled into the pilot's seat with a cheery sigh, ignoring the voice in his headset ordering him to stand down.

Lifting off, Clint flew to the west. The hijacked facial rec had located the girl, Alexis Castle, as she got off a train in Detroit with a man who bore more than a passing resemblance to Phil Coulson.

Putting the ship on autopilot, Clint went into the back to retrieve his bag. Unzipping the side, he took out the stack of Captain America cards still stained with blood he now knew wasn't Phil's. He brushed his thumb over where Steve had graciously scratched his signature albeit after the fact. Maybe in a few days, the mystery would be solved and he'd finally be able to return them to their rightful owner.

~~O~~

While the setting sun chased Clint's quinjet across the northeastern United States, Castle and Beckett welcomed cops and civilians alike to Officer Jim Norton's retirement party. Castle had bought out the businesses on either side in order to include a bandstand and dance floor. Jim was well-liked by his brothers and sisters on the force as well as the citizens on the beat he'd walked for the last thirty years. The place was filled wall to wall with an undulating mass of humanity that surged and flowed like a river.

At the moment, the guest of honor, his wife Mary, Jim's partner Ed Romero and his wife, Tillie, were holding court at the end of the bar near the bandstand. Mary and Tillie excused themselves just as Castle and Beckett joined them.

Over the roar of the crowd, Castle asked, "Having fun?"

Ed laughed, a glass of ginger ale in his right hand. "We are indeed, Mr. Castle." He clapped his now ex-partner on the shoulder. "Jim and I have been partners since the mid-nineties."

Jim looked embarrassed. "You say that like it's a bad thing, Ed."

"Not at all. We got to know the people on our beat. They're family."

"And Mary and I'll still come around to visit."

The band returned from their break, beginning the set with _Fly Me to the Moon_. Ed set his glass on the bar and bowed to Beckett. "Detective Beckett, would you do me the honor of this dance?"

"Of course, Officer Romero."

They moved out onto the dance floor, Castle watching with a smile. Taking the phone from his jacket pocket, he brought it out of power saver mode. Cursing silently that the only message he had was from Martha letting him know that she would be hosting her acting class at their home in the Hamptons this coming weekend. Still nothing from Alexis. With a heavy heart, he hoped that meant she and her unknown companion were alright. He'd wanted to put a BOLO out on them immediately, but Beckett had convinced him it would be a bad idea to put them on the radar of the people who'd tried to kill them. And reluctantly, Castle had agreed. But still, he worried. At the same time he wondered how to get in touch with his dad to see what he could get from his contacts.

Scrolling the photos, he stared at John Doe's face still trying to figure out where he'd seen the guy before. When he closed his eyes, he saw rain falling, the top of a black umbrella tilting back as Doe looked up as if he could sense he was being watched. The man flagged down a cab, closed the umbrella and was gone just as Alexis came in the front door.

Dragging his finger across the screen, he stared at Trask's face trying to decipher the look in his eyes. His were eyes that had seen and done things that most people could never dream of and not in the good ways. He'd had a hard life, but hadn't let it break his spirit. That evaluation didn't tally with the man's file. Frustrated, Castle set the phone on the bar and signaled for a refill. The bar's manager came to speak with him briefly and when he turned back, Norton was holding his phone and grinning.

"So you're a fan too, huh?"

"Pardon?"

"The Avengers. I was down in the trenches when Captain America, the Black Widow and Hawkeye rescued a busload of people just before one of those ships attacked." Norton sighed.

Confused, Castle sipped his drink and leaned his back against the edge of the bar. Mary and Tillie hadn't come back yet and Beckett was still dancing with Romero. "I'm a little slow tonight, Jim. How is this relevant to anything?"

Norton held the phone up, Trask's photo glaring out at the world. "That picture of Hawkeye on your phone. Me, I'd've picked you more as a Black Widow kinda guy, but whatever floats your boat, that's what I say."

Snatching the phone from Norton, Castle held up both hands. "You're telling me that this guy, right here, is one of the Avengers?"

"_That's_ what I'm sayin'. Though I think he goes by the name of Barron, Bigelow…"

"Barton?"

Slapping his hand on the bar, Norton grinned. "Yeah. Barton. Uh…Clint Barton. I only know this 'cause Mr. Stark-he's Iron Man, you know. Mr. Stark had a big blow out party for all the first responders once the city got herself back inta shape after the invasion. See? Got my picture taken with…hey! Where ya goin'?"

Castle weaved his way between the dancers to Beckett's side. With an apologetic smile, he said, "Cutting in," not waiting for Romero to leave before wrapping Beckett in his arms and spinning her around.

"Castle! What…"

Keeping hold of her arm, he led the way to the front door and out onto the sidewalk. "I know who Trask is! _And_ I have a pretty good idea why the facial recognition program isn't working."

"I thought we'd settled that. He's…" Castle held up his phone now displaying a publicity photo of the Avengers in costume, the mayor standing at the podium as he praised them for being instrumental in saving Earth from the Chitauri invasion. "If Trask is one of the Avengers then what's he doing posing as a stiff with Homeland Security?"

"A cover. And now we have a name."

"Which is more than we had a few minutes ago." Beckett started the SUV and pulled away from the curb before Castle had buckled in. It didn't take long for them to return to the precinct to find Ryan and Esposito still hard at work. "You get it fixed, Ryan?"

"Yeah. IT sent one of the geek squad to help. Why?"

"Look up everything we have on Clint Barton."

To go by the looks on the boys' faces, they recognized the name as well, but thankfully didn't waste time demanding explanations. Seconds passed and Ryan sat back in his chair. "Hmm."

"What?" Beckett asked impatiently.

"Well, aside from the invasion videos and a few press releases, there's nothing out there. Except…" the detective clicked on a You Tube video link.

The images wobbled, obviously taken with a hand-held camcorder. The date stamp in the lower right corner showed a date more than twenty years in the past. A herd of clowns dancing out of sight in the background revealed that the owner was inside a circus tent. The audio was garbled, but they were able to make out the ringmaster announcing the next act.

Accompanied by applause, a young man barely in his teens and carrying a bow strode into the spotlight. He bowed to the crowd as the ringmaster requested silence. The crowd hushed, seeming to not even breathe as the boy nocked an arrow and nodded to someone out of frame. The camera followed the trail of three tennis balls as they flew through the air. The boy nocked arrows, turned, sighted and released so quickly that if you blinked, you'd have missed it. Ohs, ahs and even louder applause followed when the ringmaster held up the arrows, each impaled on a tennis ball.

"Shut it off," Beckett ordered.

Esposito was perched on the corner of his partner's desk, nodding at the monitor. "Get this Beckett. The kid was billed as The Amazing Hawkeye."

After a short pause, Castle clapped his hands together, the noise loud in the empty squad room. "That makes Trask, or rather Barton, a real, live superhero."

The boys snickered at the mystery writer's child-like delight. Beckett nudged him with her elbow. "Maybe he can get Iron Man's autograph for you."

"Don't need it. Tony Stark's a big fan. I even went to his last birthday party at Stark Tower. Got to meet Captain America, but the rest of the Avengers couldn't make it."

Snorting in annoyance, Beckett asked, "And you didn't take me and the boys?"

Unrepentant, Castle shrugged at the irritation his friends exhibited. "Beckett, you were staying with your dad after his surgery. Ryan and Jennie were at his parents' fortieth wedding anniversary. And Esposito, you and Lanie had seats behind home base for the Yankees. Alexis was on a trip with friends so I took Mother."

Chucking at the mental imagery, Esposito shook his head. "Don't tell me. Martha cornered Stark and convinced him to either back a play, movie, what have you she's starring in, make her the new face of Stark Industries in their upcoming commercial campaign or speak at one of her life-coach classes."

Suddenly looking uncomfortable in that way an adult child does when their parent does something to embarrass them, Castle shrugged. "All three. You know how relentless she is."

"Yeah. We do." The boys bumped fists.

"Okay. Back to work," Beckett instructed. "Show us what else you've got."

~~O~~

In the shabby motel that was their current hiding place, Phil went over what Alexis had done right and as well as what she'd done wrong in their encounter with Omen. To her credit, the young woman listened and nodded, committing his advice and directives to memory for future use. Hopefully this would be over soon so she could go back to her everyday life and eventually become a forensic pathologist just as she'd planned. He wasn't optimistic that she would stand down during the upcoming confrontation, but hoped he'd find a way to minimize her interactions with the assets.

What _he_ would do when the end of Project Phoenix came, he didn't know. More and more of his memories were surfacing, and with them the faces of people he knew as his friends. The ones that stood out the most vividly were a petite and very fierce woman with red hair and the man with the eye patch. Then there was the man who carried a bow and arrow with whom Phil shared a special bond of friendship. Their names still eluded him though.

Alexis wadded up the remains of her lunch in the paper wrapper it had come in and dropped it in the bag. Phil did the same then drained the rest of his fountain drink while she continued to toy with her straw, sliding it up and down, making it squeak. "What's next?"

As if in answer to her question, someone pounded on the door like a cop on a drug bust.

**TBC**

**A/N: **"Fly Me to the Moon" is a song written by Bart Howard in 1954 and is most closely identified with Frank Sinatra.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Many thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Gracias,

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Eight**

Phil nodded and Alexis called out in a sing-song tone, "Who is it?"

"_The manager. You only paid for a single, honey, 'n I saw ya goin' in with a fella lookin' all chummy 'n stuff._"

Mouthing instructions to her, Phil ducked quickly and quietly into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Alexis mussed her hair and kicked off her shoes, the skinny jeans and tank top showing off her shape. Opening the door, she smiled coyly. "Hey."

The manager was ferret-like, though not nervous or twitchy. This man had a rough upbringing, but the way he looked her up and down, he'd be easy to persuade. "This is an upstandin' place, honey. We don't 'llow no…funny business. You got two people in a room you _pay_ for two people. Only fair."

"As you can see, I'm all alone." She drew the last two words out.

"Looks that way." He gave her another once-over, as if she were on display, and it made Alexis' skin crawl, but she didn't let it show. Pushing the door open, she silently invited him in. As he stepped over the threshold, she sat on the end of the bed, crossed her knees and arched her back to make her chest more prominent. It must've worked because he moved over to the other side of the room with his back to the bathroom as she'd planned, grinning with anticipation. Like it was his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.

To further distract him, she swung the top foot and twirled a lock of hair around her fingers. Dropping her voice into a husky drawl, she said, "Surely we can come to some kind of…agreement."

He looked down at the gold ring on his left hand then at her. "You'll be gone by tomorrow, right? 'Cause my wife's comin' home in two days 'n I don't want no trouble."

Nodding, Alexis gave him a come-hither smile, but he didn't get a chance to take even one step because Phil took him down with one blow, leaving the man sprawled across the flowered polyester bedspread that probably hadn't been washed in months. Jumping to her feet, she stood looking down at the unconscious man, letting one side of her mouth twitch upward. "Was it good for you?"

With a snort, Phil smiled sardonically. "Never better."

As he'd done with the asset on the train, Phil reached out to break the guy's neck so he wouldn't be able to identify them to the police or anyone else who might come around.

"No!" When he hesitated, Alexis stated firmly, "If you kill him, _they_ win. You're not _him_ anymore, the man they made you into. Please."

~~O~~

His hands on either side of the manager's head ready to snap his neck, Phil looked up into the wide, expressive eyes of his friend pleading for him not to kill the low life. This young woman had an old soul. She was also practical and intelligent. And though he didn't remember everything about his life before he became Enigma, he remembered enough to know that he couldn't go to the man with eye patch or the others. They thought he was dead.

And Alexis was right. Rolling the man onto his back, he pulled him into a sitting position, preparing to flip him into the fireman's carry when she stepped forward. "What're we going to do with him?"

"We?"

She shrugged. "A friend will help you move. A _best friend_ will help you move a _body_. And right now, I'm the best friend you've got."

Phil thought about what she said for a millisecond then waved a hand. "Get his feet."

When they'd safely stashed the unconscious manager in the trunk of the car, Phil shoved his hands in his pockets. "We need information that can't be gotten from a library computer so I've arranged a meet with my contact tonight."

"Oh?"

With a grin, Phil led the way to the beater car he bought from a teenager in the Big Burger parking lot. He'd paid twice what the rust-bucket was worth, but it gave them transportation so they could come and go as they pleased without having to adhere to the public transit system's schedule. He backed out of the parking space, slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses he'd found on the floorboard and shifted into first gear. "First, we get rid of lover boy."

They left the manager sitting on a bus bench with a note saying, "I've been a bad boy. Send me home to my wife."

As she got into the passenger seat, Alexis asked, "Where to now?"

"Shopping."

~~O~~

Swearing to himself, Jackson Hunt thought about hitting someone, but couldn't. The downside to spending most of your adult life alone was being alone so much of the time. And now that they'd finally met in person, Hunt wished that he'd been able to watch his son and granddaughter grow up in person rather than from a distance. He corrected himself to just Alexis because he know that Rick would always be a child at heart, though he did come through in Paris.

Then there was the invasion when Hunt thought he'd lost all of them. Rick, Alexis, his son's girlfriend though they'd never met. And Martha. Of all the regrets he'd accumulated over the years, leaving her to raise their son alone was the biggest. She'd done a stellar job of it though, and one day he hoped to be able to say so in person.

Right now, this situation with Alexis and the man he knew as Lonnie Clayton, Ross Kellick et al, bothered him. Trask was supposed to be on the job so Hunt didn't have to be, but he'd gone off the grid. Clayton had taken Alexis with him. Hunt didn't know if this was an op so super-secret that no one else knew about it, or if something more was going on. But he did know that if Alexis was injured while in Clayton's company, friend or no, even death wouldn't stop Hunt from getting revenge. And no one but _he_ would know it wasn't an accident or a suicide. Maybe Trask as that woman he hung around with, Allison Vernon. She was something else! Said she was American, but he knew better. What's more, she and Trask _knew_ he knew but didn't care.

For now, he was forced into the role of bench-warmer while someone else played quarterback, and he didn't like it. Taking an untraceable phone from his back pocket, Hunt made a few calls trying to get a bead on Clayton. Until he heard back, he could only sit and watch.

~~O~~

Sitting outside the women's dressing rooms, the garment bag holding his tux and accessories, Phil waited patiently for Alexis to come out. She'd already tried on several dresses, but didn't seem to be happy with any of them. Perhaps if they went over their cover story again, she'd be able to make a decision.

Going to the dressing room door, he knocked, speaking to her in French and calling her by yet another alias. "Everything okay in there, Gabrielle?"

Alexis responded in French as well. "_Yes, Father._"

"Will you be much longer? We still have several stops to make before we get dressed for the party." Leaning close to the long mirror to the right of the door, he examined the black eye and split lip, trying to look like he was bored out of his skull in case anyone was watching. Both were nearly healed. Probably another side effect of taking the chems so he enjoyed it while it lasted.

"_Almost done. I wanted something sophisticated, and not sleazy._"

Now that he was beginning to remember more of their friendship, he also recalled that the feelings he'd had for-and still did-were that of an uncle or much older brother. At no time had those feelings strayed over the line into anything sexual. Once or twice, young men had smiled at her in the coffee shop and he'd had to fight the urge to warn them off. He was her friend, not her father, and it wasn't his place to guard her virtue, or even to wonder if she'd crossed that line yet. And he wouldn't presume upon their friendship to ask either. On the other hand, he had no idea what he'd say if she volunteered the info. Perhaps it would be best if they just avoided the subject altogether. "I'm sure you'll look amazing in whatever you choose."

"_Whoa! Is that BS I smell? Careful, Father, or you'll get us thrown out of the store._" Chuckling, Phil returned to his seat and a few minutes later, Alexis came out carrying a garment bag. "All done. And I promise not to embarrass you."

Taking her hand, again as if he were her father, he smiled fondly. At least that part he didn't have to fake. "You could never do that. We're friends, remember?"

Rolling her eyes, she returned the smile. "Finally! I was beginning to think we'd spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other again."

"We were meant to be friends or I wouldn't've ended up in that same coffee shop where we first met, Lexi." He tagged the nickname on the end to let her know that even though he hadn't remembered who _he_ was until recently, somehow he'd known _her_.

She reclaimed her hand at the register and didn't speak again until they were almost to the car. "Phil, what about Abigail?"

The name rang so many bells inside his head it gave him a mild case of vertigo. Not wanting Alexis to feel even sorrier for him than she already did, he shrugged as he unlocked the doors. "The name seems familiar, but I can't put a face with it."

"Okay. I won't mention her again."

Smiling so she'd know he hadn't taken offense, he started the car and headed for their next destination, another safe house. The new place was better equipped than the motel for their purposes. Phil hadn't mentioned it, but he'd ordered a limo to take them to the party tonight. This particular contact always put in an appearance at the big birthday bash real estate tycoon Tony Ransom threw for himself. From what he could remember, Phil hadn't made a big deal of _his_ birthday in years. It was something he had in common with… He still couldn't remember the names. Instead of worrying over it, he kept his attention on the road.

~~O~~

Alexis finished applying lipstick, dropped the tube in a small evening bag that matched her dress and lifted the diaphanous material just high enough for her to walk without tripping. When she reached the entryway at the bottom of the stairs, she waited for Phil, both hands holding the bag in front of her. She turned at the sound of his footsteps coming from the back of the house. He'd used the downstairs bathroom to shower and change so she could use the bathroom in the Master suite upstairs and not feel she was taking something from him.

It was sweet that he went out of his way to make sure she was as comfortable as possible while the two of them were traveling together. First and foremost, he let her know by his actions that he had no intention of taking advantage of her. In so many ways, he reminded her of her dad. He was always putting her safety and needs ahead of his own. On more than a few occasions, she could've called her dad without him knowing, but didn't because Phil had told her not to. She didn't know that much about spies and how they operated, but she did know that secrecy was a way of life.

In his tux, Phil looked every inch a secret agent in the style of James Bond. He adjusted his tie then fiddled with the cufflinks, his only jewelry aside from a watch. His smile said he approved of her clothing choice, but not in a creepy, older guy lusting after a much younger woman kind of way. If she'd gotten that sort of vibe from him, she'd never have let him share her table at the Java Loft the night they first met. "You look great."

"Blue's a good color for you. Brings out your eyes."

"Really? It's not too much?"

He shook his head. "Understated elegance works for you."

Alexis touched the sheer midnight blue material. "Thanks."

Cocking his elbow, she tucked her hand around it as he opened the door. "You're welcome."

At the curb sat a long white limo, the uniformed driver standing at the back door waiting to perform his duties. The driver helped them in, got behind the wheel and pulled smoothly away from the curb. For the party, they were going by the names of Jeremy and Megan Gunner, a wealthy businessman and his daughter. While he met with his contact, Alexis had the job of reinforcing their cover story by complaining to anyone who would listen about the poor treatment she received from her father.

There were certain code phrases Phil could use with the contact to get his requests across without the need for privacy. She needed no instructions on how to behave in this setting so he spent the ride giving Alexis pointers on how to behave under these circumstances. "Try to stick to soft drinks, juice, whatever. If you're going to drink alcohol, nurse it like it's the last one you'll ever have. You don't want your senses and response time dulled."

"Virgin Cuba Libre instead of a Cuba Libre. Check. After a single glass of the most expensive Champagne on the menu, of course."

"Jeremy Gunner would expect nothing less of his spoiled rotten daughter."

Alexis pursed her lips, huffed and rolled her eyes. "_Fine_, Dad. Don't you _ever_ get tired of nagging?"

Getting into his role, Phil sighed as if he'd heard it all before many times. "Long ago. When your mother died, I promised to take care of you."

"News flash, _Einstein_. You're _lousy_ at it. Where's the waiter? I need alcohol and lots of it."

They stared at each other a full ten seconds before Alexis started laughing and that set Phil off. "Blend in. Try not to stand out too much in people's minds. Be aware of the people and what's happening around you. If you're instincts tell you something or someone's not what they seem, they're probably right…"

When they reached the home of Tony Ransom, Alexis knew as much as he could teach her about the trade on the short ride. Before they got out, Phil handed her a beaded pashmina shawl in silver with fine blue threads running through it that matched her dress. She thanked him with a smile, wrapping it around her shoulders on the way to the door where he announced their names with an arrogant swagger. "Jeremy and Megan Gunner. We're on the list."

Alexis, playing her part to perfection, sighed loudly and looked bored. "We're _always_ on the list. Why can't we just stay _home_ once in a while?"

He affected an air of patience stretched to the limit. "Because my presence is expected at these functions, and _you_ come because I said so."

"The next time Uncle Tony has one of his 'functions', I'm going to Aruba."

As though fed up with her constant whining, he took her by the arm and led her inside. "The contacts I make here see to it that you're able to take trips to Aruba, Morocco, Aspen, whatever. And what _is_ it about Aruba that you prefer it over Maui where we have a condo overlooking the Pacific Ocean?"

Sticking her nose in the air, Alexis swept passed Phil and inside. "Maui doesn't have Roberto."

"Roberto? Who the _hell_ is Roberto?"

~~O~~

Keeping Phil's advice in mind, Alexis left him to work the room. Because of her dad's standing in the community, she'd attended more than a few events just like this one and knew how to handle herself around the rich and I'm-going-to-be-famous-someday. She swiped a crystal champagne flute off a passing tray, sipping it as she circled the room trying to get a bead on who Phil's contact might be. What he wanted from that contact, she didn't know, but guessed it would help in bringing down whoever was responsible for their situation.

Death wasn't funny. But to think someone was dead and have them come back not even knowing they'd been dead…well, that was just bizarre. And a little creepy. If _she_ thought he was dead, then what must his family be going through, not to mention his ex-girlfriend who'd broken up with him just a few weeks before the invasion. Putting it out of her mind, she pasted on one of the phony smiles everyone wore at these things and began chatting with a group talking about something incredibly dull but seemed oh, so important to them. She gave the appropriate responses at the right moments and was careful not to seem too interested in any one person or topic.

Eventually, Alexis excused herself and went to the ladies room, taking up residence in the first stall hoping someone would make a call or talk out of turn thinking the room was empty. After fifteen minutes, she gave up, did what she had to do, washed her hands and reapplied her lipstick.

Going to the buffet table, she chose a few items that were easily consumed to stave off hunger and provide fuel should it come down to a fight. Kate had been teaching her self-defense, kickboxing and martial arts along with the weapons. She wasn't as good as her soon-to-be step-mom, but with practice, maybe one day.

Her eyes swept over Phil at the bar awaiting his order, and kept going. Then, something brought her attention back to him. It was the way he was standing, the tilt of his head and the almost feral glint in his eyes. Alexis didn't know what, but something had happened or was about to happen. _Maybe he's spotted his contact_, she thought, and slowly made her way through the crowd. Whatever went down, she planned on being part of it no matter what Phil said.

She was just within range to call out to her spurious father when she noticed the man standing next to him. Even over the distance, her instincts screamed _Danger! Danger!_ And not just the you-could-die kind. When his blue-gray eyes gave her a leisurely inspection, it was as if he'd actually touched her, his scrutiny was so intense. He liked what he saw, but she also got the feeling that he wouldn't act on it because of her age. He wasn't classically handsome, but she could see in the way he held himself that he expected women to fall for his charm. And his was considerable. That kind of man would be at home in almost any setting. Backyard BBQ, lavish soiree or anything in between. And dangerous.

Boldly returning his stare to show him that two could play the game, Alexis snagged another glass of champagne and took a sip, her eyes never leaving his. The man smirked back at her, then turned talk to the bartender breaking the connection.

In all her adult life, what little there'd been so far, she'd never played sexual games with a man, but this short encounter made her feel empowered. If she could get the attention of a man of obvious experience, what might she be able to do if she put her mind to it?

Mentally rolling her eyes at the image of herself as a femme fatale and not certain she liked it, Alexis took one last turn around the room, approaching the bar from the opposite direction so she wouldn't have to look at _him_ again. She was about to slink up to Phil for a…what did they call it? A sitrep? But before she could make her presence known to her friend, he and the other man got into a conversation. Insinuating herself into a group of people, she kept one eye on Phil just in case.

~~O~~

Clint watched the young brunette make her way through the throng of people dressed to impress than for comfort as if she'd been doing it her entire life. And maybe she had considering she was Richard Castle's daughter. The hair was shorter and a different color, but it was her. He'd seen pictures bent and torn from the ransacking the loft had been given when the assets had gone after Phil and been killed for their efforts. A couple answering to the basic descriptions of Phil and the girl had been seen getting off of a bus in Atlantic City, and there she was. Did that mean Phil, or his evil twin, was somewhere nearby?

He'd hijacked the video feeds from the NYPD a second time, the geek squad linking them up making Clint even more certain that the man he'd been following was Phil Coulson. Then, when he accused Fury of lying, the director had been even more shocked than the archer because he had been on the scene for Phil's last breath of life.

Together, Clint and Fury had come up with the idea of Clint quitting in a blaze of glory to give the mole something spectacular to tell his or her employers that couldn't wait, thereby guaranteeing the culprit would be caught and severely punished.

The girl flipped her hair, tilted her head and laughed at something someone said then separated herself from the group and stood there holding that same glass of champagne. Every few seconds, she pretended to take a sip as she scanned the crowd. Her eyes met his without fear though he could tell from the set of her mouth that she had very little experience with the opposite sex in such a sexually charged atmosphere. Well, it was for him, though it was moderated by her evident young age. _Daughter rule_, he decided, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with her.

He leveled an unblinking stare on her that fairly smoldered with intent as he brazenly examined every inch of her from the top of her blonde streaked hair to the tip of her pedicured toes peeking out of three inch open-toed heels. Silver dangle earrings winked and sparkled as she moved her head slightly. The scarf she wore as a wrap hung over her elbows baring her neck and shoulders above the strapless midnight blue gown. The neckline and high waist glistened with sequins the same color as the dress that hung in frothy layers down to the floor. All her weight was on the right foot, the left peeping from under the hem that pooled around her.

Deciding he'd tormented the poor girl enough, Clint broke eye contact to place his drink order. When he looked again, she was gone.

~~O~~

Phil idly examined each face looking for his contact going by the name of Deveraux. He'd have a goatee, a custom made tuxedo and a two hundred dollar haircut. The only jewelry Deveraux ever deigned to wear would be a platinum pinky ring on his right hand, the latest model Rolex, and his current girlfriend. She would be overly attractive, blonde-natural or not, big-breasted and barely legal. So far, he hadn't seen the latter so that meant the former hadn't yet arrived.

He'd just made peace with the fact that he and Alexis would have to stay here longer than he'd originally planned when alarms started going off in his head. The hair on the back of his neck rose up, a chill going down his spine as if an icy cold finger had been drawn along its ridges. He felt like the alpha male about to be challenged by a strange wolf for leadership of the pack. The weight of the Glock under his left arm, the Walther PK380 attached to his left ankle and the knives concealed on his person comforted him. They also made more sense than the prototype weapon he used to threaten Loki.

Loki. He rolled the name around in his head without tasting it on his tongue. With the name came the sense that he'd totally and royally screwed up and had paid with his life. The scar on his chest throbbed, but he resisted rubbing it to ease ache, turning his head to the right just as the man standing at his side ordered a bottle of beer.

At the sound of the intruder's voice, the wall inside Phil's head that had been steadily crumbling over the last week or so came crashing down, flooding his mind with a myriad of memories, good and bad. Images that rushed at him, faster and faster until he couldn't tell one from the other. In seconds, he saw the man he'd once been and now was again, as well as the man he'd been turned into and no longer was. And with that eye-opener, the animalistic, almost savage emotions drained away to be replaced with a sense of trust and something close to peace.

Phil plucked an olive from his martini and popped it in his mouth, before lifting the glass to his lips. He sipped and swallowed then, without turning his head, he said, "Won't kill you to try something new, Barton."

The man at his side stiffened, the bottle halfway to his mouth, his eyes narrowing in shock as he slowly swiveled his head so that they were now looking right at each other. Obviously stunned, the other man only said one word. "Phil?"

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Nine**

When Phil spoke, the noise and music of the party became overlaid with bells ringing in Clint's ears. From the moment JARVIS had shown him the video until now, he really thought there'd be a plausible explanation for why his dead friend had suddenly come back to life. A long lost twin, one of Stark's life model decoys, evil doppelganger, clone. Anything but the real Phil Coulson alive when he should be dead. Returning his features to their everyday go-screw-yourself expression, his resting face, Clint took a long swallow of the beer, its icy cold soothing the dryness of his throat, and exuded an air of boredom that stopped just short of a yawn. "Thought you were dead."

In that same seldom flustered tone Clint remembered from their first meeting, Phil shrugged and said, "Reports of my death…"

"…have been greatly exaggerated? Lame, Coulson."

"Not exaggerated. Just premature."

Gesturing for Phil to go ahead of him, Clint shoved one hand in his pocket, holding the beer in the other as they pretended to talk about something innocuous. "Hold that thought. We got company."

A waiter passed just close enough for the men to divest themselves of their drinks then Clint grabbed one of the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate truffles and popped the entire thing in his mouth while Phil adjusted his tie and tugged his cuffs into place. "I make two assets over by the fountain."

"And a third coming out of the ladies room."

Phil scooped three hundred dollars' worth of Beluga caviar onto a toast point, popped it in his mouth and followed it with a full glass of the Cristal, giving a small moan of pleasure at the taste. "I'll go left…"

"…and I'll go right."

The men turned to go, skidding to a stop when Alexis stepped into their path. "Should I go up the middle?"

In unison, Clint and Phil exclaimed, "No!"

Phil continued alone. "Stay here, _Megan_."

The tone of his friend's voice and emphasis on her name told Clint that Megan was the girl's alias. He almost laughed out loud when she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Fine! But you should know I wield a mean Beretta! Right, Phil? Phil!" She lifted the hem of her dress, turning in a circle searching for Phil who had disappeared. Extending her hand, she said, "Megan Gunner. Nice to meet you…um…"

Clint took her hand, too distracted to get anything out of the fact that he was now touching the young woman he'd had a momentary desire for. "Dominic Trask. Homeland Security, Budget and Procurement."

He felt more than saw the confusion her voice betrayed, "Budget and…"

One of the male assets spotted him, drawing the other's attention with a nod. They parted, heading away from each other in a classic divide and conquer maneuver. The girl seemed more annoyed than anything when he said, "Excuse me. I gotta go kick some guy's ass."

Picking up a plate of hors d'oeuvres Clint did his best waiter imitation, holding it up to cover his face in an attempt to get closer to the asset who'd made him. Not that it would work, but at least it was something.

Again the asset saw him, but this time he didn't run away. Clint recognized the superior attitude in the smirk and the arrogant lift of his chin as he dared the archer to attack him in front of so many witnesses. But Clint knew something that the asset didn't. Neither of them cared about witnesses. Once the fighting started, the expensively dressed crowd would stand out of the way while someone called the cops.

The furor of the invasion had died down long ago, though the Avengers still got lots of mail with the men often receiving marriage proposals and so much more. Some of it embarrassed even Cline. Starting a bar fight at a fancy shindig would barely rate a paragraph in the entertainment section of the newspaper. At least he hoped so.

The second asset blindsided Clint making him fall against an older man with white hair and a handlebar mustache. "Hey! Watch it, pal!"

The man gave Clint a shove, sending him flying onto a table dumping drinks and expensive tableware onto the floor. Clint was on his feet again, he and the asset evenly matched in hand-to-hand skills. They bumped into a black-haired woman in her thirties wearing enough platinum and diamonds to fund a small third-world country for at least a year. She called them both a name, balled up her fist and swung at Clint. The archer ducked, the woman missed, punching another woman in the face, ruining the cheek implant on that side.

With a growl, the two women began fighting like dogs over a bone, until their respective spouses stepped in, each man getting socked in the jaw for their efforts. The taller of the husbands tripped and fell against a group of onlookers, and that was all she wrote.

Within minutes, the band had stopped playing, grabbed their instruments and moved out of the way, watching with awe and revulsion at the same time as the buffet tables were overturned, the guests slipping and sliding in the food.

Some smart souls had retreated against the walls as if that would protect them, and for the most part it did. But Clint couldn't take more than a sliver of his attention from the asset he was fighting. They kicked and punched, only a few actually making contact. Others got their licks in too, leaving Clint to defend himself against several opponents. With a mental shrug, he brooded over all the times he'd gone one on one, and realized that mostly it had been in the gym with Natasha or one of the other agents. In real life, multiple antagonists were the norm.

Clint backed away from a vindictive reality show star as she brandished a chocolate cake in his direction, coming up short when he and Phil ran into each other. Fighting back to back, Clint could feel humor and purpose coming from his friend. "You know what this reminds me of?"

Not in the mood for jokes, through clenched teeth, Clint said, "If you say Budapest, I will _kill_ you for real, Coulson!"

Phil ducked a swing from a guy obviously not used to fighting for anything but the stockholder's votes. A hit to the solar plexus followed up by an uppercut knocked him out. That left Phil and Clint facing down the assets. The one in front of Clint, with your standard European good looks, smiled that same evil smile again. "I am Oracle…."

His companion, about to take on Phil, had a Latin flare. Both were free of facial hair and their tuxes could only be off the rack making Clint cringe. Spreading his hands as if daring Phil to attack, the asset said, "And I am Herald."

Phil snorted and Clint could see in his mind's eye the half-smirk that his friend did so well. "Herald, as in messenger of God? Why don't I believe that?"

"My reason for being here doesn't require your belief in anything except that you will not be living much longer."

Oracle took up the thread. "You knew this would happen, Enigma. You were warned. We _all_ were warned."

Clint grinned himself when Phil responded to the asset's taunting with, "Not today" reminding him of Stuttgart and Cap's riposte to Loki when the self-proclaimed god told him to kneel. The momentary humor dissolved when his mind naturally supplied reminders of the events that followed and his part in them. Two years, and lots of therapy, had eventually convinced Clint that he hadn't been responsible for his actions during that time, but it didn't stop the sadness at the loss of life at his hands.

All of that was pushed to the side as the assets stepped up their game and Clint was forced to keep his mind on more immediate matters.

~~O~~

As assets, they'd done several things wrong though some of it wasn't their fault. Now that Phil remembered everything except for the period between dying and awakening in the hospital, he knew that he hadn't volunteered for Project Phoenix, though he'd been told so by Conundrum.

His hand automatically reached for the weapon nestled under his left armpit, but stopped short of touching it. This wasn't the place for gunplay. There were too many innocent people who could get hurt and too much of that had happened already. He was also reminded of the people he'd killed before regaining his memory.

Those first three had been the muscle Phil had taken out in the parking garage just before running into the young woman who was ultimately instrumental in bringing him back to himself: Alexis Castle. And that thought caused him to wonder where she'd gone. None of his attention could be spared as Phil continued the fight with Herald. As before, it was kill or be killed. Or maybe not. If the assets could be knocked out and taken to a secure SHIELD facility where they'd be held until the chems wore off, they'd be their former selves again. Working his way closer to Clint, Phil whispered his plan to the archer, receiving a nod of agreement.

Clint counted to three, and together, they tripped their opponents, forcing them to land in a pile of food smeared on the Italian marble floor. With a grin, Clint taunted, "Your mother wears Army boots!"

He took off out the patio door with Phil on his six. Phil didn't have to look back to know the two men were right behind them.

Diving into the bushes, Phil ducked and rolled, Clint beside him as they stayed low to the ground, effectively disappearing in the dark. A small part of his mind worried about Alexis and the lone female asset still inside. Whatever they did, it had to be done soon so he could save the young woman from becoming just another statistic in Project Phoenix's playbook.

They let the assets pass their hiding place then stalked them around the garden, leading them away from the main building. Clint took out his SHIELD radio and called for pick-up then, on Phil's count they jumped the assets and took them down, using zip-ties to immobilize them. Standing over the two men on the ground, Clint and Phil engaged in a fist-bump.

Screams and people steaming out into the night reminded them that Alexis and the female asset were still inside. Jumping hedges and dodging rose bushes, they returned to the house, skidding to a brief stop at the sight before them.

~~O~~

Watching from the sidelines, Alexis winced when Phil and Trask-pffft! Like she believed _that_ was his real name!-pounded the pulp out of the two guys leaving the woman for her to deal with. Stashing her purse out of sight in a potted plant, she used the scarf to tie her skirt out of the way so her feet could move without getting her neck broken.

She'd scoped out the first floor earlier and now she made her way up to the second floor where beautiful wall hangings were attached to the railings, most likely put there just for the party.

Unhooking the side of one, Alexis wrapped her arm around the material, swung one leg at a time over the top rail, grabbed hold with the other hand and, gauging the distance, probable velocity and angle of descent, she hypothesized that she'd end up smashed against one of the many roman columns around the room. Adjusting her placement, she turned to face the railing, took a deep breath and pushed off.

Her flight was short and not very sweet, ending abruptly when she slammed into another body. Momentarily stunned, she shook her head to clear it just as the asset did the same. Keeping in mind everything Kate had taught her, she attempted to engage the woman in hand-to-hand, but the other woman's skills far exceeded hers and Alexis found herself being dragged over to the fountain. Without shoes, she couldn't get purchase on the marble to slow their forward momentum. Seeing the woman's intentions, Alexis fought back as best she could. But the asset was relentless.

"You should know the name of the one who will bring about your destruction, Alexis Castle. I am called Fortune."

"If you hurt me, my father…"

A biting laughed forced its way out of the woman's mouth. Though she possessed classical Asian beauty with her jet black hair and deep brown eyes, the accent was all Aussie, making her seem incongruous, especially in her current surroundings. Then there was the fact that she'd come to the party to kill Alexis and her friend. A moment of black humor almost made her laugh. She wanted to call the woman a name, but wouldn't stoop. _Way to win friends and influence people, female dog!_

"I've read your father's work. It's difficult to believe that a well-respected publishing house would continue to print such drivel. His plotting is both boring and implausible. The characters are two-dimensional and sickeningly sentimental on a good day. On a bad day, well let's just say that the pages of your father's novels are the perfect size to fit in the bottom of a birdcage. That he actually makes money at it is beyond my capacity to understand."

With every word Fortune uttered, Alexis grew more and more angry. Before she could formulate a suitably scathing response, the woman grabbed Alexis by the hair, drawing out a growl of pain and rage. Alexis clawed at the hand, but Fortune was unyielding, her steps tireless. With a desperate twist, Alexis wrenched free just as they reached the fountain. And when Fortune reached for her again, she was momentarily thwarted by two men who stepped in her path.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, lady?" the first one asked, not really expect an answer, and he got none.

"Yeah, leave the girl alone." his friend demanded unpleasantly. The man might've been intimidating in the courtroom where he presided as the DA, but not so much here.

Touching the first man on the arm, Alexis tried to intervene. "Don't…"

She was ignored by both men as they took two steps forward. To their surprise, Fortune, though outnumbered, was not at all cowed by the blatant show of bravado.

Scoffing, Fortune flexed her hands in preparation for a fight. "I believe the term you Yanks use is bring it on!"

Then, quick as a flash, Fortune took them both down to the floor. They weren't dead, though they would have massive headaches when they woke up. But Alexis couldn't spare the time to feel sorry for them as the asset dragged her to the fountain.

Swinging her arm, Fortune let go and Alexis found herself falling into the deepest end. Designed to look like natural rock, the multi-level cascading pools overflowed one into the other, the bottom one filled with pink and white water lilies. Plenty of room to drown someone in, and that's what Fortune intended to do to Alexis.

She was just able to take a full breath before the hand on the back of her head shoved her face first into the water. The gown had come loose and was now tangle around her legs keeping her from kicking out.

Persistent pressure on the back of her neck forced the air out of her lungs, and when she instinctively tried to take another breath, she inhale water that tasted of chorine and dirt. But she was a fighter and wouldn't go down easy. Sweeping her hands over the bottom, her right hand felt the shape of a rock. By the texture and weight, it too was fake.

Then Alexis remembered something Kate had taught her about turning even some innocuous into a weapon. If nothing else, it could provide a distraction. Alexis' fingers gripped it tight as she wrenched to the side, swinging her arm up and around.

The move was unexpected causing Fortune's swaggering self-importance to falter just a little as she stumbled backward. Alexis came up out of the water, soaked to the skin, her hair lying in a wet, tangled mess with a few strands stuck to her face.

Her blue eyes blazing, she crawled out of the pond just as Fortune got to her feet and started forward again. Another man, perhaps shamed into it by his friend's earlier abortive attempt to save Alexis, stepped in front of Fortune, fists up in a sloppy version of a boxer's stance. He struck out with his right fist. Fortune grasped his wrist, twisted, and the man went flying against the wall. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Alexis spied a sterling silver serving tray lying atop a mound of food. She picked it up, raising it high over her left shoulder as if it were a Louisville Slugger, and smacked Fortune on the back of the head. The other woman didn't even flinch. And when she made the slow turn to face Alexis again, all the young woman could say was, "Uh-oh."

Dropping the tray, she turned to run, but was caught within a few steps. She couldn't understand how the guests and owner could allow this to happen, but it was, and it now seemed that Alexis would pay with her life just for being Phil's friend. Now she understood why he, and other like him, didn't talk about their jobs.

Her head was forced under the water again. The will to fight back was still there, but her strength drained away. Digging her fingers in between Fortune's hand and her neck, Alexis tried to pry them loose, but she couldn't. The other woman was too strong, her stamina seemingly endless.

Blackness nipped at the edges of her mind as she silently shouted out her rage. _No! I can't die! Not yet. I wanna fall in love, have kids, leave my mark on the world…_

She found herself standing in a room filled with light, darkness creeping in from the sides until there was only a pinprick of brightness in front of her. And just before the light vanished altogether, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

"Alexis? Can you hear me? Breathe! Come on, Lexi. You can do it! Breathe!" The voice filled her with warmth and something that felt like affection. It wasn't her dad, and after a moment, she recognized Phil's calm, yet urgent tones. She was lying half on the cold hard floor and half on someone's lap. Coughing and blinking water from her eyes, she looked up into Phil's concerned blue eyes. He smiled. "Hey. You made it. Don't ever scare me like that again."

He helped her to a sitting position then stood, taking her hands and bringing her to her feet, holding on tight as she swayed through a dizzy spell. The remainder of the guests, and the owner, had drifted over to the tables and were sitting together getting quietly drunk on whatever they could find that contained alcohol.

The doors burst open and the room flooded with heavily armed men and women in black jumpsuits. Each had an unfamiliar insignia on the sleeves in the shape of an eagle in flight. Four muscular men took charge of Fortune from Phil's friend Trask. As they reached the exit, Alexis called out, "Wait!"

They stopped, staring at her and not saying a word. Stomping over to the group, Alexis stood toe to toe with the older woman. "What you said before about my dad's writing."

The asset sighed. "What about it?"

"One question: How many New York Times best-selling novels do _you_ have? 'Cause my dad has thirty-one plus graphic novels _and_ a fan club." Fortune didn't honor Alexis with an answer as Trask waved them on their way.

"Wait." Phil stood in front of the Australian asset for Project Phoenix. "What's your name?"

"You know this already. Fortune."

He shook his head impatiently. "Your _real_ name."

For the first time, Fortune's bluster and brashness faltered then, her chin lifted, her brown eyes going cold and dead. "The person I was no longer exists. I am and always will be Fortune."

"Do you have any _idea_ what the chems are for? Physical and mental enhancements, yes. But quite by accident I discovered that they were also used to suppress an asset's core personality. When I stopped taking them, I returned to myself."

"What does that mean?"

Suddenly smiling as if the situation were funny, Phil rocked back and forth. "Project Phoenix made you, sweetheart. And SHIELD is about to unmake you." His smile vanished, right hand gesturing. "Take her away. And put her on suicide watch."

When the junior agents hesitated to obey Phil's order, Trask nodded and Fortune was taken away.

~~O~~

Clint sent agents to talk to the few people who'd stayed to the end, including the owner. He also didn't see his contact, the man he was scheduled to meet. How he and Phil had ended up here at the same time, he didn't know, nor did he care.

The agents that had stayed behind weren't hiding their shock at seeing Phil with his arm around Alexis as they parted to let Fury through. The director came to a stop in front of Phil, sparing Clint a nod for a job well-done. Behind Fury stood Hill and Natasha, their eyes never straying from Phil's face and he looked back at them with a sheepish half-smile.

~~O~~

Phil clasped his hands behind his back, chin up, waiting for the director to speak, and finally, he did. "Agent Coulson." Fury's one good eye looked him over, coming back to his face. "You're late."

The smile had gone from Phil's face, but there was still a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that he couldn't douse. "Sorry, sir. I was…unavoidably detained.

Turning on his heel, Fury spoke as he walked away. "I want your report on my desk by noon tomorrow." The quip scattered some of the tension, but Fury wasn't done. "Hill, take a verbal from Agents Coulson and Barton. Coulson will take the statement from Ms. Castle."

Hill holstered her weapon. "Sir?"

With only the lift of one eyebrow to show what he was feeling, Fury replied, "Agent Barton has been undercover for this operation. Rescind his termination immediately."

"Yes, sir." She waited until Fury and most of the strike team had gone before speaking to Phil. "Good to see you again, Agent Coulson."

"And you, Agent Hill."

Phil stumbled backward a step when Hill threw her arms around him, squeezing tight. His arms instinctively held her close. She eventually let go, her features falling back into their accustomed bland expression. Raising her voice so that all could hear, she said, "You heard the director. Statements and contact info on all civilians."

Alexis touched him on the arm, her eyes asking "What next?"

"Dry clothes and a good night's sleep for you. Morning's soon enough for to take your statement. You could write it up yourself, if you like."

She pulled the wet fabric away from her legs then pushed the hair off her face. "I look like a drowned rat."

~~O~~

With that gleam in his eye that told Alexis Phil was about to make one of his lame jokes, he said, "I wasn't going to say anything, but now that you mention it…"

"Oh, you are so funny, Phil." Her chuckle belied the sarcasm in her tone. "Can we go?"

"Yes." Taking out his phone, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and was about to dial when a petite red-head stepped into his path. The look on his face changed to one she'd only seen a few times. The red-head's expression was unreadable, as if she were holding everything in until she could be alone to process it. Alexis recognized it because Kate had once been like that with Dad. When the woman spoke, Alexis detected a slight accent, but wasn't sure of the origin.

"See you tomorrow?"

"You will, Agent Romanoff."

Nodding decisively, the woman spun on her heel and stalked away, stopping to speak to… The man with the eye patch called him Barton. Curiosity got the better of her when Phil didn't say another word. As he put her in the back of their limo, she asked, "Who was that?"

"Natasha Romanoff. Careful around her. She bites." Phil got in beside her, Clint squeezing in just before the door closed, and shortly they were on their way back to the safe house.

They rode in silence for a while then, Alexis asked, "Your name isn't really Dominic Trask, is it?"

Clint and Phil shared a look. Phil's eyes flicked to the driver and back. Taking her hand and holding it in the seat. "We'll talk about it in the morning. It's time you knew everything."

Wearily, Alexis nodded. She was going home. She should've been excited and relieved that it was over, but couldn't summon the energy. These last few days, running, hiding, pretending to be someone else…now she knew why her grandfather had stayed in the game as long as he had. It could be exhilarating…and exhausting.

On the ride home in something Phil called it a quinjet, Alexis thought about what he'd told her. About how he'd died and was brought back, about SHIELD, about the invasion. But what stuck in her mind was their last conversation when he dropped her off at the airport.

"Phil…"

"Alexis, I know what you're going to say. And my advice is to think long and hard about what you really want. The life of a spy might seem glamorous and full of adventure, but believe me, there's more to it. Much more. Before you give up your dream of being a forensic pathologist, talk it over with your family. Just don't make any rash decisions." She'd hugged him tight after that, not wanting to let him go for fear that this was all some weird, crazy dream. Waving to Phil and Clint from the top of the ramp, she hoped it wasn't the last time she saw her friend.

The pilot called to her over his shoulder and a few moments later, they landed. Waiting while the hatch opened, she wondered what her dad would say and how she would explain it all to him. He'd been involved with the CIA and the situation with her grandfather, so he knew what it was like to keep secrets. Then she was running down the ramp into her dad's and Kate's arms. Grams was there too. The four of them stood holding each other, not talking yet. There would time for it later.

~~O~~

To Phil's immense relief, he and Clint weren't met by cheering crowds welcoming him home. Strange how the meaning of that word had changed over the years. While he was away at college, he looked forward to holidays and summers with his mother. After Quantico, the house he grew up in had become a sanctuary from the realities of life. Then home became his apartment in New York or with Abigail when they could find the time. His tenure with Project Phoenix had left him feeling as if he'd never have a home again.

Now here he was standing in front of the door to his quarters on the helicarrier, feeling more at home than he had since awakening in the hospital. In the time he'd been gone, they'd given her a name: _Defender_. Phil approved because it said what SHIELD was all about. He took one last deep breath then let himself in. This room was much like his previous quarters. Sparsely furnished, Spartan even. Nothing to distinguish it from the other rooms aside from the fact that he had a small window.

Dropping the backpack on the bed, he looked out over the water of the Atlantic Ocean off of Cape May, Pennsylvania and wondering what would happen to him and the other assets now that the project would be shut down. They hadn't found Conundrum or the two remaining assets yet, but then they'd been looking for less than twelve hours and he literally had no idea where their base of operations were located.

The chime announced a visitor, breaking into Phil's thoughts, which he wasn't sorry for at all being as they were going nowhere. "Barton."

The archer took just two steps into the room and stopped, looking around uncomfortably. Clint wore his off duty "uniform" of jeans, plain T-shirt and sneakers, both hands shoved deep in his pockets. He also didn't waste time on small talk. "Fury wants to wait a few days before informing the Council that you're back."

"Makes sense." Unzipping his bag, he pulled out the clothes he bought just this morning, shoving him in a drawer and closing it softly. "That all you came to tell me?"

"No." Clint dug in his back pocket, coming out with several cards.

Phil recognized his Captain America trading cards, Steve Rogers' signature scrawled across them. They were also stained with blood. "My cards. And they're signed."

"Cap insisted. We were gonna, you know, bury them with you, but couldn't do it." The chime sounded again. Clint answered it, Natasha easing past the archer in the narrow doorway. "Talk to you later."

"Right. Thanks, Barton."

The door slid shut enclosing Phil and Natasha inside. With a nod, he offered her a seat, but she didn't take it. Just kept watching him with her head tilted to the side, weight all on one foot. Thinking that she was gearing up for one of her Russian temper tantrums, he leaned his hips against the edge of the small table next to the bed. "Tasha…"

She moved so quickly he jumped when she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. After a moment's hesitation, he enfolded her in his arms and just let the closeness of a friend comfort him. After a while, she eased back, her hazel eyes searching his face. For what he didn't know. Phil opened his mouth to ask if she'd like to go for coffee and talk.

Suddenly, she framed his face with her small and oh, so capable hands and pressed her lips to his. So surprised was he that, for a split second, he didn't respond. But she was patient, giving him time to get used to the fact that she wanted him. Sure, he'd thought about it more than once since Clint had brought her in from the cold, but never acted on the feelings for fear of damaging their friendship and working relationship. She kept everything close to the vest so how was he to know she felt the same way?

Letting himself enjoy the feel of her body moving against his, Phil returned her kisses with equal enthusiasm. He could've stayed like this for the rest of the night and been happier than he'd been in years.

Natasha's hands dragged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Choosing to be daring, he let his hands slide down to the back of her thighs, lifting until she locked her ankles behind his back as he laid her gently on the bed.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** This is the final chapter. The fic came about when I had a vision of Phil watching his friends and family through binoculars, keeping tabs on them and knowing he could never be a part of their lives again. This is how I chose to bring him back.

Many, many thanks go out to ladygris for taking the time from her RL issues to Beta for me. I treasure her friendship very much.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

~Sandy

**A Stair of Swords**

**Chapter Ten**

Five days. That's how long it took for Fury to debrief Phil on the events of the last two years, medical to certify him fit and psych to declare that he was mentally sound. And for him to remember where he'd seen Conundrum before.

At his own suggestion, he sat in on Fury's next meeting with the WSC, but in the shadows where the councilmembers couldn't see him. With a nod, he confirmed the identity of Conundrum. Touching his headset, Phil alerted the strike team lead by Clint and Natasha, and moments later, the center screen erupted in chaos as the lone woman on the Council was unceremoniously taken into custody. And she did _not_ go quietly, calling out for her attorney and vowing she'd have all their jobs. Clint brought the house down when he stated for all to hear, "Lady, you can HAVE my job. Then I won't have to deal with b***** like _you_. Now move it or lose it."

Clint's face filled the monitor as Natasha dragged the Brit from her home office. He grinned and the screen when black. The two councilmembers still online began talking at once until Fury calmly inquired, "Will that be _all_, gentlemen?"

Without responding, the men shut down transmission as Fury went to his desk. "The paperwork's gone through to re-establish you as a living, breathing resident of the United States. Even got you an apartment in Manhattan. Your reinstatement as an agent of SHIELD will take a few more days…_if_ that's what you want. There's also a bank account in your name with two years of back pay in a high-yield interest-bearing as of noon five days ago."

Taking a slow journey out of the shadows and into the pool of light over the desk, Phil kept his eyes on the floor directly in front of him as he ordered his thoughts. "That's very generous of you, sir."

"I sense a _but_ coming."

"I would like some time to think about it."

Nodding, Fury accepted his request. "That is, of course, your prerogative. Your job will be waiting for you if or when you decide you want it. And my door is always open."

"Thank you, sir." Phil shook Fury's hand, turned and walked off the bridge, not stopping until he reached his assigned quarters. It wasn't his "old" room, but it held a special memory of the night he spent with Natasha. He wasn't so arrogant as to think that it had been about more than relieving stress. It had been emotional for him and that made it a big deal…to him. But Natasha was difficult to read at the best of times. She was gone when he woke up, and he'd only seen her once since then from across the Mess Hall. She either hadn't seen him or pretended she hadn't.

Gathering his personal belongings, what few he had, he closed the door and headed out on deck. The soldiers and agents nodded greetings as they performed their assigned duties. He thought about waiting for Clint and Natasha to bring in Conundrum, known to most of the world as Lady Avery Thompson-Stewart, to confront her personally, but didn't want to upset the delicate balance any more than he had.

"Agent Coulson, sir. Give you a lift?" The young woman was a pilot he recognized as having come on board not more than a few weeks prior to the invasion.

"Executive Center Airport just outside Manhattan, please."

A few strands of brown hair had escaped from the elastic, but she didn't seem to notice. "Yes, sir."

Following her and the co-pilot on board the quinjet, the last flight he'd taken with Captain Rogers came to mind as well as what happened afterward making the scar on his chest ache. One day, perhaps, he'd get a chance to thank the living legend for the cards, but for now, he'd leave well enough alone. He'd leave everyone well enough alone until he figured out what he really wanted.

~~O~~

"You are under arrest for murder, enslavement, perfidy, forcible transfer of population, enforced disappearance, torture…" In a voice devoid of emotion, Natasha recited the list of crimes against humanity Lady Avery Thompson-Stewart would be tried for in an international court of law.

"That's a _lie!_ I _saved_ them! I gave them _life!_ They were _dead_ to their families, their friends, to all the people who professed to love them…"

Thompson-Stewart's handcuffs were snapped around one of those thick bolts used to tie down heavy loads to keep them from shifting during transit, and though she struggled, her strength was no match for the quinjet's alloy hull. To Clint's dismay, she only stopped her tirade to take a breath.

"…and_ I _gave that back to them. _ I_ should be praised for the enormous strides in medical technology made during Project Phoenix. I should be given the Nobel Prize. I-"

Thompson-Stewart drew back when Natasha shoved her way to the prisoner, standing so close that she could kill the woman if she chose. Her widow's bites whined through the power-up, small charges of electricity sparking around both wrists. "If you say 'I' one more time…"

The woman who'd been raised in aristocracy, every whim catered to from the day she was born, snapped her mouth shut, a look of pure outrage in her eyes that _anyone_, let alone someone known as the Black Widow, would speak to her in that manner. As far as Clint was concerned, it was about time someone put her in her place, and he silently applauded his partner for the audacity.

Natasha whirled away from the prisoner, stomping her way to the front of the quinjet. Crossing her arms, she sat down hard on the padded bench behind the pilot's seat, eyes on her feet and breathing fast through her nose. As her partner and friend, it was Clint's job to cheer her up. Dropping onto the bench next to her, he took her small hand in his, the leather of her gloves warm from her skin. "She's not worth getting excited over, you little _matryoshka_ doll."

Turning her head so fast her hair was a red spray around her, Natasha squeezed his hand so tight it almost hurt. "_What_ did you call me?"

"You know. Those little wooden dolls that come one inside the other."

Pulling her hand free, she pressed her fingers to her mouth to keep from laughing. "Your Russian needs work, Barton."

Shrugging as if he didn't care, Clint sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Made you laugh, didn't it?"

"_Da._"

To prove to her and himself that his Russian was perfect, Clint continued in Natasha's native language. "So, Nat. You and Coulson, huh?"

She reacted without thought, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open in shock. "I…have no idea what you… All-all we did was…talk."

"Ri-i-i-ight. You know, I haven't had a good _discussion_ with a woman in a long time. Maybe I can find someone to strike up a conversation with this weekend."

"But we _didn't_…"

Clint cut off her protest by nudging her shoulder with his. "I saw you sneaking out of his room at 0645 when you're usually in the gym by 0600, so save it, sweetheart."

Sitting back and huffing in defeat, Natasha chewed on her lower lip until the silence became too much. "_Fine._ Just keep it to yourself, _Eblan._"

"Too late. Now that he's back, we resurrected an inactive pool. Gettin' the bets in before the two of you commenced conversatin' was a b****, but we did it."

"And naturally _you_ came out the winner."

A sad smile came over his features and one hand lay over his heart. "Having been present at the start of the event, I graciously recused myself."

"_Der'mo!_"

"It's true. Ask Fury. _He_ was the big winner." Clint said it like a challenge, but to his disappointment, Natasha didn't take him up on it. And the gleam of mischief that came into her eyes set all of the archer's senses on alert.

"You still have a thing for Hill?"

Much the way she'd done earlier, his head snapped around in shock. "Who _told_ you about…I mean, what're you…O-oh, _I _get it. You're on a fishing expedition. Something to hold over my head so I'll shut up about you-know-who." Pursing her lips, Natasha just stared ahead, refusing to confirm or deny. "Okay. Okay. I admit that _once_, a _long_ time ago, I might've harbored a small yet very intense daydream…"

"Fantasy," she corrected.

"…about how long it would take to melt that frosty exterior of hers with just a few passionate kisses, but that's _it_. I've been over it for a long ti-_stop_ _laughing!_ It's _true!_"

The pursing turned into a smirk, but she didn't utter another word until a few minutes after the quinjet landed on the deck of the helicarrier and then it was only to tell the prisoner to shut up…again. While the guards took Thompson-Stewart to a holding cell, Clint and his partner went to the bridge to make their report.

~~O~~

As she and Clint were leaving the bridge, Natasha stopped in the doorway, a smirk taking up residence on her face until Clint was out of hearing range. "Agent Hill."

"Yes?"

"Agent Barton would like to have a few words with you in private this evening."

Hill's forehead crinkled slightly in puzzlement at the emphasis the Russian put on 'words', but didn't pursue it. "Of course. It'll have to be quick because I've scheduled an orientation for the new recruits at 1930."

Grinning at the look on her partner's face when Hill showed up at his door asking what he wanted to talk to her about, Natasha went straight to her quarters, booted up her computer and sat down to write her report with one eye on the time. Her best guess was Hawkeye would be pounding on her door sometime in the next few minutes, angry _and_ embarrassed.

Thirty minutes later, Clint still hadn't called or come by to give her hell for the prank so she got in the shower, expecting him to be impatiently waiting when she was done. Once again, he was conspicuous by his absence. That left her with nothing to think about but what she'd been avoiding for days: Phil.

The first time she saw him in Detroit, alive and breathing and knew he wasn't a figment of her imagination, that she wasn't asleep and dreaming of him again, she'd wanted so much that there didn't seem any way for her get it.

When Bruce first came on board, Natasha had known intellectually, that he could transform into the Hulk, the Other Guy, at any moment. And after the engine blew up, it happened and it was so much worse than she thought it would be. Having the Other Guy chase her through the ship, destroying equipment, intent on killing her because, to his primitive mind, she was the cause of his pain scared her so bad she sometimes still dreamed of that day.

Thor had come to her rescue, whether that had been his intention or not. And while she cowered in the dark, too afraid to move, all she had wanted was for Phil to take in her in his arms and hold her until the fear subsided, but Loki had killed him before that could happen. And for two years, she had lived with the fact that she'd never told Phil how she felt about him. He hadn't made a move either, though the reason was very simple. He was her handler, and Clint's, when it came to missions. They were a team, the three of them. Phil had recruited Clint and Clint had sort of recruited her.

Now the partners reported directly to Fury. No middleman. Phil, and her feelings for him, messed with her head in a way she didn't like at first. By the time she became used to it, finally grasping the concept of honest emotion verses those she'd been trained to simulate, it was too late. Phil was gone.

But now he was back. Or had been. Fury sent an email letting her know that Phil had made the decision to take time to settle back into the world before making changes to the status quo.

Rubbing her hair with a towel, she returned to her computer and accessed Phil's updated personnel file.

Natasha had lied to Clint earlier. She and Phil hadn't talked, at least not much. Certainly not about their feelings or what finally being together in the truest sense of the word meant to them. Good thing, too, because she wouldn't have known what to say. She wasn't even certain the feelings were meant to last a lifetime. With all the enhancements done to her at the 2R facility, chances were better than even that she would outlive him for quite some time. And that's when she realized how precious this feeling was. She had to grab onto it with both hands and not let go. A line from a song she once heard told the story.

_There's never a wish better than this when you only got a hundred years to live._

The name of the song and the artist had never been known to her. It was about living every moment to the fullest because you're not guaranteed a hundred years. Hell, you've not even guaranteed a hundred months, weeks, days, hours, minutes or even seconds. Something else she'd heard stated it perfectly.

_This is life. No one gets out alive. _

_Time to reach out for something you __really__ want_, she told herself. And now she was sure she wanted Phil. Not just for a night, but for always.

The events of the last few days caught up with her. She yawned and was about to shut down the computer when she received an IM…from Clint.

_Thanks! I owe you!_

She smiled then began to laugh. Her prank had backfired…spectacularly! Climbing into bed, she fell asleep with a smile, happy for her friend.

In the morning, Natasha requested and was granted a leave of absence. Hill approved the time off before she could finish the lie she'd created on the way to the bridge. And Natasha didn't have to ask her friend what happened last night. It was right there, if you knew where to look.

Natasha hoped Phil wouldn't mind when she just showed up on his doorstep without calling first. If he did, changing his mind would be easy. She'd persist until she convinced him.

Getting out of the cab at Phil's apartment building, Natasha looked up at the stone edifice. At one time, she could've seen him living in a place like this, but life was different now for both of them.

"Tasha!" Looking up, Natasha shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun to see Phil leaning out a window.

"Can I come up?" For an answer, the door buzzed and she rushed to open it. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she took the stairs to the third floor to find him waiting in the foyer, hands shoved in the pockets of a pair of navy cargo pants paired with a blue and white striped shirt and sneakers.

Phil shrugged as he led the way down the hall to an open door. Inside, the loft apartment looked nothing like the exterior. The building had once been an old warehouse. However, the decorator must've been colorblind because everything was white. Furniture, walls, floors, curtains. Artwork hung on the walls, black and white abstracts that made one feel as if the entire world was monochrome. The only spots of color were the books lining the built-in shelves under the stairs and clothing tossed over the back of the sofa.

In the family room, the sofa and chairs had been pushed off to one side to make space for a mattress and box spring. Strangely, a feeling of impending doom came over her and when she looked up, there was the source.

A platform stuck out from the walls over what was meant to be a cozy dining area that led to the kitchen. The platform couldn't be called a bedroom because to be an actual room walls were necessary. There were no walls or railings to prevent someone from falling off the side should he or she get out of bed during the night or sleepwalk. Phil had solved the problem in the only way possible. He relocated the bed downstairs.

Natasha finished her quick perusal, coming back to Phil who still watched her with those penetrating blue eyes. "Needs more color."

Hands in his pockets again, he leveled a small expression of reproof at her. "You didn't come here to give me decorating tips, Tasha."

"I want…" she looked down at her hands, suddenly uncertain.

"What, Tasha? What do you want?" His voice was soft, filled with expectation…and hope.

_It's time to declare yourself_, Natalia. Summoning all her courage, she responded with the only answer possible. "You. I want _you._"

~~O~~

The streets of Manhattan looked no different today than they had when Phil had been inexplicably drawn to the Java Loft where he reacquainted himself with Alexis Castle. Only this time, he wasn't alone and on the run. Now that he and Natasha were together, _really_ together, his life had become a cliché. Colors seemed brighter, the sun warmer-not always a good thing, especially in summer-food tasted better, and he slept soundly without the crazy dreams that he now knew were glimpses of his life prior Project Phoenix.

The chems had worked their way out of his system, letting in all of his memories. Before leaving the helicarrier, he'd been given the most thorough physical ever. SHIELD's doctors would continue to monitor him for any lasting side effects, but other than that, he had made the difficult decision to break away from the agency that epitomized secrecy. He needed to do something that didn't involve lies and deceit as standard operating procedures.

A sign in the window of the coffee shop stated that the franchise was for sale, and that got him thinking about what to do with his time. Boredom set in when Natasha was gone and he needed something to engage his mind, keep him centered and involved with the world around him again. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. A _great_ idea, in fact.

Phil was jerked out of his thoughts when Natasha took his hand. "Go talk to the owner."

Shaking his head and smiling that she knew him so well, he claimed a kiss before leaving the table.

Three weeks later, Phil proudly stuck a sign in the window that read, "Under New Ownership" then unlocked the door for his first day of business with Natasha at his side.

~~O~~

"You're sure this is what you want?" Rick Castle asked Alexis. They were sitting together on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders.

Nodding, she laid her hand on his chest. "I'm taking a semester off just to recharge and reevaluate. The university counselor said my scholarship will still be there when I come back."

"And it has nothing to do with your trip to Detroit?"

"Maybe a little. Maybe one day I'll go into the family business and become a spy like my grandfather, but not for a while. Who know? Maybe I'll get married and raise a family instead."

"I'll back whatever choice you make." He kissed the top of her head the way he'd been doing since she was a child then walked her to the door. "Bye."

A cab was already idling at the curb when she pushed out the front door. She jumped in, gave the address and the driver pulled into traffic. Alexis arrived a short time later at her favorite Java Loft where she now worked part time for her friend Phil. Before going inside, she watched him with Natasha. The shop only had a few customers, all occupied with individual pursuits, paying no attention to the couple behind the counter. With her now shoulder-length red hair back in a ponytail, Natasha looked nothing like the photos and drawings of the Black Widow still finding their way onto the Internet.

As his friend, Alexis was glad that he'd found someone. After his break-up with Abigail, brought on by their vastly different schedules, the secrecy surrounding his job and the fact that she'd taken a position with the Portland Symphony Orchestra, she had worried that he would be heartbroken for the rest of his life.

Because Alexis worked at the Java Loft, her dad, Kate and Grams came in, as did the cops from the precinct. Natasha and Phil's friend, Clint, came in with his girlfriend and sometimes she even saw the other Avengers as well. Just the thought that the place might be filled with cops and/or the Avengers made it the safest business in Manhattan.

Tonight, it would just be her, Phil and Natasha with Clint and Steve arriving later. When Phil introduced her to Captain America, she'd gawked at him like a lovesick teenager. Steve had shaken her hand and called her "Miss Castle" with a shy smile. Phil caught her watching him one night while he was sweeping the floor after closing and was quick to let her know that Steve wasn't seeing anyone, if she wanted to ask him out. In terms of experience in general, he was way ahead of her, or had been until The Misadventures of Phil and Alexis, as her dad called it.

Taking her personal items to the back, Alexis tied an apron around her as she came out to begin her shift. A few minutes later, a busload of people came in and they barely had time to breathe for the next two hours.

~~O~~

Arriving at the Java Loft thirty minutes ahead of schedule, Clint saw that the place was full. He grabbed an apron from the back, washed his hands and dived in head first. He'd spent his day off with Hill and had invited her to join him, to get to know Alexis. The girl was Phil's friend and he wanted her to think of him as a friend too, but Hill had work to catch up on.

To amuse himself, Clint considered the looks on the faces of junior SHIELD agents were priceless after his "reinstatement" following the big scene he'd made when quitting. With a quirk of humor, he wondered if there were still bits of "scene" sticking to the ceiling. He often wandered past a cluster, glaring, just to see them scurry out of his way as if he'd go ballistic on them like he had on Fury. Never mind the fact that the truth of his "defection" had come out at his official return to duty. Still, it provided a few minutes of fun.

Hill and Clint parted company when she dropped him off in the park up the street. Of course, "up the street" was relative. He'd jogged the six miles from the park to the store in under thirty minutes. Not a record, but not bad for him. And "jogged" was also relative because he used the trek as a chance to work on his free-running skills. Steve showed up a few minutes after Clint did.

Clint spent the next couple of hours hustling coffee drinks, running the register and charming the ladies-and a few men-into increasing the size of their purchase. Steve wasn't much help at working the coffee machines, but he excelled at wiping tables and mopping up spills. Then closing time finally came around.

He turned off the sign and locked the doors with a sigh of relief. Phil and Natasha were behind the counter talking softly while she counted the register. Leaning on the counter as if he were in a bar, Clint said, "Decaf for everyone, my good man."

"You got it." Phil set out five cups as Alexis joined them, holding up her phone.

"That was Detective Ryan. He and Espo are on their way home. Can you make their usual?"

Phil took two more cups from the stack next to the latte machine. "Coming up. Steve?"

The super-soldier looked up from where he was wiping down the last of the tables. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry about sweeping and mopping tonight. I'll come in early and clean up."

"If you're sure…" Steve gathered up all but the one towel Phil was still using and carried them to the back, stopping to wash his hands at the sink. He gave Alexis a shy smile that she returned with a light blush.

The young woman's hair had been dyed its original light red color and had grown out a little since Detroit. Clint had liked the brown with the blonde streaks, but this suited her better. Cap too, if Clint went by the way his eyes followed her when he thought no one was watching. If he left it up to them, they'd play this game forever. And if Clint learned anything from his recent experiences it was not to wait for life 'cause it won't wait for you. He snickered. _That sounds like a country western song_.

The music coming out of the hidden speakers, calming to the customers, grated on Clint's nerves now that the place was empty. While Phil filled the orders, Clint snuck into the office, changed the channel and returned to the "company" table. From there he could see everything and anyone looking in would see that the store was occupied.

The current song ended just as Clint finished his coffee, tapping the table to the beat of a song by Queen, two with the left and one with the right, and singing along with Freddie Mercury.

Boom-boom-BOOM. Boom-boom-BOOM. Boom-boom-BOOM.

_Buddy you're a boy make a big noise__  
__Playin' in the street gonna be a big man someday__  
__You got mud on your face__  
__You're a big disgrace__  
__Kickin' your can all over the place__  
__Singin' _

_We will we will rock you__  
__We will we will rock you_

Getting into the song, Clint got up and danced, getting the others into the swing too. By the time the last chorus ended, the whole group was up dancing. They fell into their seats laughing at themselves and having a great time.

Clint saw Steve peeking at Alexis again and it was starting to give him the creeps. Why didn't the guy just ask her out? Hell, why didn't _she_ do the asking? Time for a little matchmaking, Hawkeye style.

The song changed to _S__ukiyaki,_ the Japanese version. Getting to his feet again, Clint went around the table to stand next to Alexis. He made a slight bow, his hand extended, purposely making his tone overly formal. "May I have this dance, lovely lady?"

Stopping herself from giggling, Alexis smiled and lay her small hand in his, batting her eyes. "I'd be delighted, kind sir."

Both were in the black pants and dark green T-shirt that was Java Loft's uniform, but still they bowed and courtesy as if it were a fancy-dress ball. Clint led the young woman around the open area in front of the register, bending her back into a shallow dip when the song ended. Setting her upright again, he winked and grinned making her blush.

~~O~~

Tired after the rush, Alexis just wanted to take a shower and watch some mindless television show until she fell asleep. Then, Clint surprised her with his offer of a dance and she only just managed not to look at Steve hoping he would take the hint. When the dance was over, she decided that, if Steve didn't ask her out soon, she'd ask _him_.

Ryan and Esposito tapped on the window and Phil went to give them their order. On his way back, he veered off to shut down the last of the machines and grab his keys. "As much fun as this night has been, I'm ready to get out of here."

Clint made her laugh when he cupped a hand around one ear. "And I hear my pillow calling, so I'm outta here. Later."

By the time Clint was out the door, Phil had brought Alexis her things from the back. Every night she worked, one of the SHIELD agents would make sure she got home. She flashed Phil a look, signaling with her eyes, but Natasha was the one who got it. "I know it's my turn, Steve, but would take Alexis home tonight?"

"Sure." Steve crossed the room quickly, holding the door then following her through. They headed for the subway, discussing whatever subject came to mind except the one Alexis _wanted_ to talk about. She'd given him plenty of openings, dropping hints about all the free time she had while taking a semester off from university. He didn't catch any of them though, and by the time they reached her building she was ready to scream.

He bid her a quiet good night, and as he turned to go, she called out to him. "Steve, would you like to go out to dinner or a movie this weekend?"

To her great surprise, he smiled and nodded, "I would. Saturday night?"

"Not sure yet. Give me your phone." Obediently, Steve handed her the cell phone he only used to make calls and she entered her name and number. While in there, she took note of his number, quickly adding it to her contact list. She gave him one last wave as he jogged back in the direction of the subway station, certain she wouldn't sleep at all.

~~O~~

Ryan pulled to the curb in front of the Java Loft that had become their new cop hangout when they weren't at the Old Hunt. Esposito raised his hand to rap on the window, stopping at the sight of Clint dancing with Alexis. "Hey, look."

"Castle is gonna bust a gut." The partners looked at each other and smiled, each knowing what the other was thinking. Esposito took out his phone, setting it to record.

With an evil grin that matched Espo's, Ryan said, "Oh, man! I'd _love_ to be there when he see this."

"We'll hear all about it from Beckett tomorrow, provided we actually make it home tonight."

Ryan waited until Espo sent the video to Castle to say, "Yeah. I'm working so much these days, Jennie feels like a single parent."

Phil opened the door, exchanging the coffee for cash then the guys got back in the car. "It would've been so much more fun if Castle'd seen it in person, as long as we were there too."

Espo shrugged. "Fun is fun. And _this_ will be epic."

~~O~~

Beckett watched the video over Castle's shoulder for the third time. Yes, it looked like Clint was cozying up to Alexis, but as a detective, she knew that looks could be deceiving. Castle moaned again when at the end of the dance, it looked like Clint had kissed his daughter. Beckett took the phone from him and shut it off. "I know you're upset…"

"_Upset? _ That a man old enough to be _too old_ to date my daughter is trying to _date_ my _daughter?_ Yeah, I'm upset!"

"It's just a _dance_, Castle. No one's seducing anyone."

He paced in the doorway of the den, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "You weren't there the other night when I stopped in. He was _all over_ her. Then he comes over to me with that arrogant grin of his and asks what she likes to do on a date."

Attempting to placate her fiancé, Beckett slipped an arm around his waist. "Gathering intel? Curiosity? No sense in worrying about it. Come on. Let's go to bed."

"You go. I have to finish this chapter. It has to be sent to the publisher tomorrow."

"Want me to wait up for you?"

Finally smiling, Castle rested both hands on her waist, holding her close. "I'm going to be a couple of hours, and you have to work in the morning."

What Castle said was only a half-truth. He did have a deadline, but he also wanted to wait up for Alexis and was using work as an excuse. Beckett kissed him good night and climbed the stairs to their room, getting into bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

~~O~~

Castle was just finishing the current chapter of his newest Nikki Heat novel when Alexis let herself in the front door. "Dad, what're you still doing up?"

"Deadline," he said distractedly. When he finished the paragraph, he closed the laptop and went to greet his daughter. "How was work tonight?"

She dropped her backpack on the sofa and sighed wearily. "Busy."

Trying to be casual and not overly interested, he went to the kitchen and poured them each a glass of milk. "Anything…unusual happen that you'd like to share?"

Holding the glass in her hand, she smiled and looked down, a light blush coming to her cheeks. "I have a date this weekend with a friend of Phil's." She looked up at him when his glass hit the counter with a clank. "Don't come _unglued_, Dad. It's just dinner, and maybe a movie."

Alexis finished her drink, rinsed the glass and kissed him on the cheek. "'Night. Don't stay up too late."

When her feet disappeared from sight, Castle finished his milk in one long drink, rinsed the glass then poured a single finger of scotch, sipping slowly as he pictured himself as the father-in-law of a man his own age. The image made his brain ache so he went back to writing.

Saturday evening came around and Castle still hadn't come to terms with who Alexis was dating. Sure, Clint was a spy, assassin and a real live hero, but other than that, what did he have to offer? At the knock on the door, he rushed to answer it, staring open-mouthed at the man standing there.

"Evening, Mr. Castle. I'm here to pick up Alexis. We have a date. Are you okay, Mr. Castle?"

Castle snapped his mouth shut, shock turning to delight. "Come in, Captain Rogers. She'll be right down."

"Thank you, sir. And please call me Steve."

Going to the bottom of the stairs, Castle called out, "Alexis!"

"I'll be right down, Dad. Behave!"

Gesturing for Steve to follow, Castle led the way to the sitting area, just now noticing that the young man was carrying a small bouquet of flowers. Steve perched nervously on the edge of the sofa, the flowers in one hand. Before Castle could engage him in conversation, Alexis' footsteps sounded on the stairs. Steve jumped to his feet and turned, a smile already in place.

Against his nature, Castle was charmed by the young man's gentlemanly manners. Almost as much as Alexis to go by the shy smile she gave Steve at the presentation of the bouquet. She handed the flowers to Castle. "Put these in water, please, Dad."

Before he could say another word, they were out the door. The nightmare picture that had been in his head of Alexis and Clint on their wedding day blurred and changed, replacing the archer with Captain America. Now _that_ picture, he liked. Very much.

With a spring to his step, he went back to the den and returned to Nikki Heat.

**In a Secret Location Somewhere in North America**

Cypher sat behind the desk that had once belonged to their leader. The word came down that Conundrum had been shown to be a member of the World Security Council, turned in to SHIELD by Enigma. One leg crossed over the other, Cypher rubbed his forehead to ease the beginning of a headache, contemplating a change of vocation. The sort of work he did had caused him much pain in the form of chronic tension headaches and migraines. Facing the wall behind the desk, he didn't turn when Alpha entered. The man cleared his throat, his voice a whisper in deference to the pain he knew Cypher was feeling. "SHIELD has taken all but Paradox and Harbinger into custody."

Cypher chuckled humorlessly. "Harbinger is dead. Killed in an avalanche, if you can believe that."

"We'll have to restart the program with just Paradox."

"Not a good idea. The assets are all time bombs." Hearing Alpha shift his feet, he explained, "Conundrum inserted trigger phrases into their subconscious. All it takes is someone saying the right words in the right order and all hell will break loose."

"What are the phrases? We could use them to get the assets back, restart the process with updated formulas."

Turning around, he sat forward in the chair making it creak. _Have to do something about that._ "She didn't write them down or tell anyone. Needed an edge, I suppose."

Taking a seat in one of the visitor chairs, Alpha unbuttoned his jacket. "Then we have no choice but to go back to the drawing board."

"This time we have to make certain that the core personalities don't resurface. Contact Dr. Shearing. Tell her I wish to talk to her."

"Conundrum attempted to get her cooperation in the beginning and was turned down."

"There must be something she wants that we can trade for her assistance. We just have to find the right incentive." Cypher paused to think out his idea. "What are the current whereabouts of Outcome Five, Nikki Parsons and Jason Bourne?"

**The End**

**A/N: **"100 Years" is a song written and recorded by American singer-songwriter Five for Fighting (John Ondrasik), released November 2003.

"We Will Rock You" is a song written by Brian May, recorded and performed by Queen in 1977.

"Ue o Muite Arukō" ("[I] Shall Walk Looking Up") is a Japanese-language song that was performed by Japanese singer Kyu Sakamoto, and written by Rokusuke Ei and Hachidai Nakamura. It's best known under the alternative title "Sukiyaki." The song was originally released in the United States in 1963. There have been more than twenty covers and variations since 1963.


End file.
